Highlander: Yesterdays Gone
by ScealaiTheRakker
Summary: At 400 years old, Cornish Immortal Martin Penwarden has sworn off taking students. However when he encounters a newly Immortal woman, disturbed by her own murder he realises he can't just look the other way. He has friends who will help but one of them may have more sinister motives of their own than just helping bring a new Immortal into The Game. Original Characters.
1. Time To Kill

Yesterdays Gone

Bitter tears stung his eyes and burned his cheeks, just as the winter rain was freezing his flesh. He gazed down at the freshly turned earth and the solitary wreath, his heart clenching as he swore to avenge her murder. He would never forget the moment he had found her mutilated body and if it took a thousand years, he would find and punish the one responsible!

Sulphurous grey smoke coiled from the tip of the cigarette. It glowed red for a moment as the nicotine was inhaled and burning white ash fluttered to the ground. For a moment, the flakes seemed half suspended before the snow bank opened to receive them and they melded into its' icy depths. The expended filter tossed to the floor, joined them a moment later. Within a very few minutes the evening street in Downtown Vancouver bore no evidence that anyone had ever stood there, watching the unusual little shop. He smiled to himself as he walked, head down into the gathering snow storm. The woman had been enjoyable. He wished he could have had the pleasure of seeing the look on her husband's face when he found her. Still, needs must and his next conquest would be a little more of a challenge – intellectually if not physically at least. He glanced up at the clock on the tram stop shelter. He would have to hurry if he were to make the Meeting in time.

South Coast of Cornwall, Near Falmouth, 1613

_The sails hung ragged from the three masts of the eighty foot Dutch Flute; beating madly in the howling gale that assailed the tiny ship. Waves crashed across the decks, drowning out the screams of both crew and passengers as the tide drove their ship inexorably towards shore. The Captain had long since given up on his desperate attempt to guide his vessel onto the relative but tentative safety of a sandbar. Below decks, timbers creaked and splintered ominously. The flat keel of the Flute had struck the wicked rocks that guarded this section of the coast like jealous sentinels. Wedged, the ship was helpless as the sheer ferocity of nature continued to pound her to pieces. By the time the sun rose, the storm had long gone. Of the ship, there was nothing left except a few pieces of floating timber, gradually carried onto the shore by the tide. One of these carried a passenger. A small boy clung to flotsam, all that was left of the foremast, his limbs stiffened by cold and fatigue. It was mere reflex that kept him holding on as a wave bore him up the beach. He had survived._

British Columbia, Early 21st Century

The mid December sun which shone weakly through the mountains and skyscrapers, upon the city of Vancouver served little to dispel the biting winter cold and harsh icy wind. The sky was clear and ice lay treacherous upon the unsalted pavements. Martin Penwarden shivered and turned up the collar of his black woollen coat against the chill, trying to tuck himself deeper into his scarf as he made his way towards the destination of his choice. In the midst of a block of otherwise ubiquitous storefronts lay one that had caught his eye. He remembered the name from the online store that he had briefly visited from the laptop in his hotel room a few days previously. It was an unusual place, with two distinct specialities - Sci Fi memorabilia and occult supplies. The shop was called "The Lion; the Witch and the Tardis".

As Penwarden came to the end of the street, he ran into a large crowd of people, lined up against police tape. They were eagerly gawking at the scene beyond the tape. Frowning slightly, Martin looked over the heads of the couple in front of him. The street was filled with scaffolding and what appeared to be camera equipment. A man was shouting instructions at both camera crews and (Martin assumed them to be) actors. Next to him a woman pushed through the observers to lean against the lamp post near him. The warm scent of very strong coffee reached his nostrils and almost despite himself, Martin glanced at her. A very faint shiver of... something touched his mind; seemed to whisper and then was gone. The girl – woman (he had to keep reminding himself) was certainly striking; crowned with a mane of black hair that seemed to glow like burning coal whenever the sun glinted off it.

"Nothing like a hot drink on a chilly day" Penwarden offered, politely.

"You're not wrong..." his new companion grinned. "Though why anyone would want to stand in the street in this wind is anyone's guess".

"What's going on up there? It looks like some kind of filming?"

"Yeah, that new Crime Drama that's been advertised in all the gossip rags. Wasn't too bad earlier, then a bunch of fan boys showed up looking for the lead woman's autograph. Cops closed the street when the company threatened to shut down production".

"That must hurt the local businesses, surely?" Martin observed.

The woman sipped her coffee and shrugged. "Compensation's been offered... and the lucky few will get their frontages unobscured on screen. I know I'm not the only one who wouldn't say no to a bit of free national advertising" she grinned and Penwarden found himself chuckling.

"Very wise" he laughed, feeling in his pocket. "Actually, perhaps you can help me if you're local. I wouldn't want to be hanging around for hours if I'm in the wrong place". He proffered the printout from GoogleMaps that he had had the foresight to bring with him.

"Oh yeah, you're on the right street" Coal-Hair nodded. "Nice little shop, that... cosy... good atmosphere. The manager's a decent sort, nothing is too much trouble. I don't think there's ever been an order she couldn't fulfil. It's that purple and silver front you can just see through the production vehicles".

Martin nodded gratefully and was about to introduce himself when a police officer with a loudhailer announced that shop workers and residents who had been issued with permits could return to their homes and places of business. There was a sudden urgent rush of movement and he lost sight of the coal haired, coffee drinking woman.

Another half hour passed before the street was fully open to the public. Penwarden made his way along the pavement to the distinctive purple paintwork that had been pointed out to him. He pushed open the heavy wooden door and was instantly welcomed by the warm sent of Nag Champa and the light tinkle of a set of wind chimes that hung over the door in place of a bell. Once the chimes had died away, the soundtrack from one of the 'Harry Potter' films could be heard playing on the store stereo. He grinned; the work of John Williams was instantly recognisable and unforgettable. For a few seconds he took in the brightly lit and well-stocked shelves around him. The shop seemed to be split into its' two themes almost down the middle and decorated to match.

Suddenly that distant soft whisper murmured in the back of his mind again. A feeling of alertness perforated his every sinew. Furtively, Martin's eyes swept the store seeking the presence of Another.

"So you found us then?" The speaker was a slender, young woman in her early twenties. Stripped of the ankle length sheepskin coat that she had worn in the street, Coal-Hair looked quite different. Her eyes twinkled with gentle good humour and here, out of the glare of the sun and the interference of the wind that had whipped her black mane across her face, Martin could easily see that she had the unusual genetic quirk that gifted its' recipients with one blue eye and one brown.

Martin had lived too long to take appearances for granted. He straightened up, drawing himself up to his full height. His posture was relaxed but he was more than ready to draw his weapon in an instant if the need should arise. He wasn't sure what the sensation was, but it was enough to make him on guard.

"Can I help you?" she smiled.

Penwarden nodded, smiling gently. "I hope so" he replied. My name is Penwarden… Martin"

"So which is it? Penwarden or Martin?"

"Uhm… both… actually…. Martin Penwarden. So... are you the owner?"

She chuckled and ducked her head. "You got me... Guilty as charged. Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"Actually, there is something I have been looking for; quite a rare and hard to find action figure. Someone outside told me that you've never had to turn an order down" he grinned back.

The woman pulled a notepad and a pen towards her. "I can try. What is it you're after?" As Martin told her, she notated it down on the pad. The Cornishman observed that she continued to massage her neck as she wrote. "Are you feeling alright?" he enquired.

She nodded. "Just a headache. I get them occasionally. It will pass".

Martin's face was filled with honest concern. She was pale and had dark shadows under her eyes. "Has this been happening for long?"

She shrugged. "Three or four weeks. Probably stress or something. It's a busy time of year".

Penwarden nodded. "I suppose it is. I'll call back in a day or two. Do you have a business card?"

"Somewhere around here". She rooted around and then made a sound of victory before she plucked a card from a pile beside the till and handed it to him from between her fingertips.

"Thank you". Penwarden accepted the proffered card, noting that her nail art was chipped and in need of being touched up. It was not like women to neglect such things was it, surely? As he left the shop, he turned the card over and examined it. The name of the shop, a telephone number and a Website address were printed on one side. And, at the bottom, the thing he was looking for; a name. Morgan Doyle. _Soda bread or clotted cream?_ Penwarden wondered, irrelevantly.

Amidst the late evening commuter rush two days later, few people paid any attention to the group of men and women walking through a downtown commercial district. They might as well be a group of Friday evening revellers or tired business people making their way home. As it was, they were neither. The Leader paused and stared up at the dimly lit signage with open revulsion. The store was still open for another few minutes and the creature within tainted his godliness with her very presence. "Cleanse the Devil!" he growled.

"Cleanse the Devil" his followers murmured back. The Leader nodded to his right hand man, who turned the door handle and entered the Witch's store.

Morgan glanced up and the words of welcome died upon her lips. "Hey what..." she yelped as several men turned over a bookshelf. "What the hell do you think you're..." she rushed forward, trying to protect her business, only for a meaty fist to strike her eye socket. She fell to the floor, stunned. Around her, items of stock and displays tumbled to the floor.

"Let's get out of here!" a woman screeched as Morgan struggled to clear her head and get up. The burglar alarm on a case of jewellery was howling urgently after a commemorative 'Dalek' cookie jar had been used to smash the glass. "The cops will show up any second and the Church doesn't need to be involved in an assault case!"

Morgan's hand stretched out, fumbling in the debris on the shop floor. Finally, her fingers closed around her dropped cell phone. A brief thrill of success was all she felt before pain shot up her arm and a man's booted heel ground the device into the floor, breaking her hand with it. For a few moments, all was blissfully silent and, thinking that the looters had gone, Morgan groaned softly. Her bruised muscles let out screams of protest and she forced her eyes open. She wasn't alone.

White blonde hair framed a cruel face in which milky blue eyes were set close together; just a few inches above her. He smiled, showing his teeth as his hand closed around her throat. Instinctively, Morgan struggled, thrashing against a display cabinet. It wobbled and a bronzed resin statuette of Cernunnos tumbled to the floor, cracking in half as it rolled to a stop in a pool of blood that had spilled from a head wound. "Your idolatrous 'gods' cannot help you" the man sneered as he tightened his grip. He was strong and it took only moments to choke the young woman into semi consciousness. Her eyes rolled back in her head and he started to draw his blade, almost salivating at the thought of the fresh innocence in the power to come. However, a distant sound gave him pause. The approaching wail of Police sirens was not conducive to what he had planned. He swore and allowed the sword to fall back into its' hiding place. At his feet, a moan of pain indicated that his conquest was starting to awaken. He dropped to one knee, fisted a hand in her raven mane and half lifted her, dragging her head and shoulders off the ground so that he could gaze straight into her eyes. "My name is Ziegler" he announced. "Edward Ziegler". With disturbing suddenness he lowered his head and kissed her possessively, almost bruisingly, on the mouth. "Remember it, my dear. We will meet again". With that he rose swiftly to his feet and turned on his heel towards the rear fire escape, almost as an afterthought, callously drawing a silenced Glock 17 and pumping several fatal rounds into Morgan Doyle's head and chest.

Martin Penwarden lingered over his breakfast on Saturday morning. The concierge had found a British broadsheet and thoughtfully brought it to his table. The Cornishman hadn't the heart to protest that he did not read newspapers. He sipped his Earl Grey (taken unsweetened and black like the traditionalist he was) and chased the last forkful of egg around his plate. Finally his quest was victorious and he was ready to venture out into the Vancouver streets. Today Martin chose to investigate the Skytrain. If he was honest, he thought the tram would have been quicker, but he was in no particular hurry to get Downtown.

On his earlier visit he had encountered the police line at the end of the street. This time, however, it was clear and he was only slightly disturbed to find his progress impeded much closer to 'The Lion, the Witch and the Tardis'. Nearby several cameras and what seemed to be reporters were jostling for position. Penwarden frowned darkly and glanced about. A bored-looking police officer guarded the line of tape. "I thought all the filming was finished?" He enquired civilly.

The officer shrugged. "Smash and grab in the weird shop" he answered.

Martin's frown deepened. "My... friend owns this shop. Was anyone..."

Before he could finish what he was saying, the strange awareness peaked in his mind again. Beyond the smashed windows of the shop there was a rustle and rattle. Men wearing the uniform of the CSI teams opened the door as two others in black boilersuits manoeuvred a gurney bearing a bodybag into the street. Unbidden, Martin's mouth opened, slackjawed. Somehow, even without the power of the full Quickening, he knew what he was dealing with. The knowledge was so instinctive, so deep within his brain that he did not even bother to question how it came to be there. He could not allow a new Immortal to revive for the first time on the cold unforgiving metal of an autopsy table. He could not in good conscience leave her at this vulnerable time. Inhaling deeply as he racked his brain to remember what had been printed on that two inch squared piece of card stock, Penwarden took action.

"Morgan!" he screamed, apparently distraught as he lunged for the body bag.

A burly cop caught his arms. "I'm sorry, sir... this is a crime scene".

"My girlfriend... she worked in that store... is that her!?" He turned wide, panicked eyes on the other man, then glanced at the coroner's assistants. "Hey you aren't going to go cutting her up are you?! That's against her religious beliefs! You gotta bury the body intact!" In truth, he didn't know anything about Morgan Doyle's faith, but it was the only thing he could think of to delay an autopsy.

"...next of Kin? Sir... Sir!" A detective tried to get his attention. "Are you Miss Doyle's next of kin?"

"Yes... yes I am... Please, let me see her?"

The cops glanced at one another. "We have to preserve any trace evidence on the body" one of them tried to explain uncomfortably. "You'll be able to see her when the ME's examined her".

"Please... five minutes... one minute... I swear I won't touch the bag" he put on what he hoped was his most lost and desperate face. "I love her... I need to... tell her that. We argued this morning... I have to tell her I'm sorry I said those things... I have to tell her I love her... I have to pray for her!" He near enough threw himself into the arms of the nearest cop, howling and gulping in a most undignified fashion. As he had calculated, the man was extremely uncomfortable and couldn't get away quick enough. Two or three minutes later, Penwarden found himself seated in the back of the Coroner's van, with the doors all but closed. He was just in time. The sense of impending urgency was getting stronger. The weak spark of a Quickening starting to burn in the back of Martin's mind. Wasting no more time he broke the seal of the body bag and unzipped it.

Morgan Doyle let out a harsh gasp. Her body convulsed and her hands grasped at air. As her eyes fluttered open, she saw Penwarden leaning over her. He had been around long enough to recognise the signs of a woman about to scream. Quick as a flash he put a hand gently but firmly over her mouth to stifle any cries. "Don't scream" he warned in a whisper. "I swear I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help, but if you scream then we're both in big trouble. My name is Martin Penwarden; I shopped in your store a couple of days ago. Do you remember me?" Morgan's head bobbed slightly in a jerky half nod and carefully Martin moved his hand away. "Come on" he said, kindly. "Let's get you covered up and out of here". He removed his coat, momentarily regretting the loss of the garment. Still, Miss Doyle's bloody clothing would invite far too many questions as they made their way through the city. "Do you mind if I call you Morgan?" he asked, turning his back while she dragged herself out of the body bag and pulled the coat on.

"...s'fine" Penwarden had to strain to hear. The voice was distant, almost answering without thought.

"Excellent. Now, if you feel up to it, let's get out of here". He glanced out of the van and, seeing the coast was clear, pulled Morgan out. She was nearly a foot shorter than he and had to half run as he led her to the end of the block and around the corner. Back on the main street, he hailed a taxi and bundled the two of them into it.

The vehicle had been moving for a good five minutes before the Immortal looked across at his companion. Morgan looked ill, as was to be expected. "Are you alright?" Martin asked.

After a moment's hesitation, she shook her head, then thought better of the move and clutched it. "My head's on fire" she complained. "What happened? I don't remember anything just..."

"Just?"

"Doesn't matter... I can't remember what happened..." she closed her eyes, swallowing convulsively and tucking up her body as much as she physically could in the confined space of the back seat of the taxi.

The drive took much longer than Penwarden would have liked. He wanted to get Morgan Doyle somewhere quiet and private as fast as possible. It was all he could do not to let out a sigh of relief when their taxi finally pulled up in front the Sheraton. Morgan opened her eyes and frowned. "What are we doing here?" She asked warily.

"I've got a suite here... It's the safest place I could think of to bring you for now. You need to get cleaned up; some fresh clothes... then we need to talk..."


	2. Siege

Up in his suite, Martin wasted no time in turning on the shower, setting the spray to a comforting massage and locking the temperature so that it would not rise too high. The room had been made up and the towels where thick and fresh. There was a clean, soft white robe hanging on the hook too. Morgan didn't resist as he drew her into the tiled refuge and helped her off with the ruined coat. "You'll feel better once you've cleaned up" he promised. "I'll arrange some fresh clothes while you're showering. So just... you know... call if you need something". He offered the younger woman a kindly smile, hoping to reassure her and slipped out.

Almost without conscious thought, Morgan kicked off her boots and peeled off her Jeans, frowning slightly as she saw the dried blood on them. She stripped off her sweater and shirt and hung them up, scratching fussedly under her hairline as she did so. Her eyes widened in fear and confusion when she lowered her palm to find it sticky with congealing blood. There was a hole in her favourite shirt, she realised... the rich royal blue turned black around it... and there was another hole with more black staining...and another! She dropped it and grabbed something else. The cardigan she had worn last night also looked like it had been dipped in blood. Morgan looked down at herself. Her undergarments were soaked in dried blood. She removed them and tried to rub the stains off her skin to see the wounds. So much blood, it wouldn't wipe off. She lunged into the shower. Instantly, the water ran red and frantically she scrubbed at her chest and belly. There was more blood than she had ever seen, but there was no trace of a wound. The shock and horror of the last night's events began to sink in and Morgan fell to her knees. She curled into a foetal position under the hot spray and began to sob so hard that her body shook.

Martin could only hope that the cries would not attract the attention of the hotel's staff and other guests. He muttered a fervent prayer that Morgan's weeping would not develop into full on screams and picked up the phone, pressing 0 for the concierge. A few moments of conversation and the man on the other end of the line had promised to arrange for some ladies gym clothing to be sent up to the suite Penwarden occupied. He thanked him and put the phone down. The next problem was food. He knew from experience that Morgan must be ravenous by now. It had to have been at least a day since she had eaten. Take that together with the shock and trauma of the onset of her Immortality, she was in need of a damn good meal. It was at this point that Martin fell afoul of his own good intentions. He would have liked to have clothes and food both waiting when she was ready for them, but since he had no idea what she ate, the best he could offer for now was the room service menu. After a bellhop brought a pile of polythene wrapped clothing to the room, Martin laid it down on the dresser with the menu on top. There was nothing else he could do. He turned the kettle on and settled down to wait with his cup of Earl Grey.

Over an hour passed whilst Penwarden pondered the day's events over his teacup. He could not in good conscience leave the city and the young Immortal. It was at this time that she would be most vulnerable to the ruthlessness of a head hunter. However, something of a dilemma had presented itself and he was unsure which course of action would be the most prudent. He had had students before of course... she was not the first whom he had taken under his wing, however he had never had to break the news before and he had certainly NEVER had a female protégé. The Cornishman did not know what to do. Morgan Doyle was in shock. She had died violently, that much was obvious. Could the police gossip be accurate? Did she know the face of her murderer? He sighed heavily. There was nothing for it. He had to earn her trust, summon up the courage somehow and try to explain what had happened.

Martin glanced at his watch. Almost two hours now. The shower was still running but the heart rending sobs had stopped. The Immortal man listened carefully. Apart from the steadily running water there was no sound at all, no disruption to the flow as of somebody washing. He tapped lightly on the closed door. "Morgan?" he called softly. "Morgan, it's Martin. Is there anything I can get for you?" No sound came from the room beyond; no answer at all. Penwarden frowned. Strictly speaking there was nothing in that bathroom that could hurt her, but she did not know that. She was alone and afraid and the Gentleman in him balked at leaving her that way as much as it balked at what he was about to do. He tried the bathroom door. The handle turned and opened easily allowing a great billowing cloud of steam to flood into the main rooms. He peered through the haze, prepared to cover his eyes in a heartbeat as he walked into the bathroom. The shower cubicle, when he found it, was empty. He reached in and stopped the water. Gradually the steam began to dissipate and Martin was reassured by the close presence of the young, strong Quickening. He reached out and grabbed one of the big fluffy bath sheets, holding it out clumsily with closed eyes towards the shadowy form huddled in the corner and thanked God in His Mercy that Morgan's body was already clothed in a plush hotel bathrobe as he blindly wrapped the towel about her. Cautiously he opened his eyes and found her oddly mismatched irises gazing at him from under sodden, matted hair. Carefully Martin picked up another towel and did his best to blot away the moisture from that magnificent raven mane. Morgan shuddered at the contact and he hesitated. "I apologise... I shouldn't have..." he whispered.

"He said he'd come back" she whimpered. "He said he'd find me again... this is crazy... I... I felt it burning... heard the shot..." she touched her forehead where one of the bullets had struck. Gunshot wounds burned like the Devil, Martin remembered; and the last thing one heard was usually the shot.

"I thought... I was going to die... all that blood... am I dead? Are you an Angel?"

Martin blinked. Of all the questions, he had never been asked that one before. It should have been easy to answer, but no words came to his lips at first. "No", he replied eventually. "No I'm not an Angel. I'm just someone who knows what you're going through... and that you need a friend".

There was a faint flicker of something in the younger woman's face. Taking it as acceptance of that simple fact, that he was a friend and not an enemy, Penwarden lifted her to her feet. "Come. There's some fresh clothing in the other room and we'll order something. You must be ravenous".

"Not... really hungry..."

"Nonsense. Besides, the best conversations are over dinner" he grinned and handed Morgan the pile of gym clothes, nudging her towards the privacy of the bedroom. "It's hardly haute couture I'm afraid but it's all I could get hold of without knowing your size"

"Thanks" she murmured with a slight nod, not looking him in the eye.

The bedroom door closed behind her. By now the steam had dissipated from the bathroom. Martin's next job was the disposal of the bloody clothes. As quickly as possible, he rooted through Morgan's pockets and retrieved her personal effects as well as his own from his coat. Of course he did not forget to transfer his sword from the hidden folds of the coat lining and into the padded box under the couch. By the time he was done, Morgan had reappeared.

"So" Martin began conversationally. "Food then. I'm Vegetarian myself, but take a look... pick anything you want".

An hour later, the hotel kitchen had delivered a burger and fries for Morgan and a mushroom stroganoff for her host. He could not talk her into anything more elaborate or expensive and in any case, she was only picking at it. He couldn't say for certain that she had actually eaten more than a mouthful or two. Carefully he laid his fork down and dabbed his lips with his napkin. "There must be a lot on your mind" he suggested. After a sympathetic look in her direction, he felt he could proceed. "Do you feel up to... maybe talking about it?" Again he made eye contact trying to read her, hoping that the answer would be in the affirmative sooner rather than later. "I'll do what I can to answer your questions". He waited; waited for what felt like a mortal's life time.

"Kay..." Morgan took a swallow of her cola. "Am I dead? Because I feel like I should be..."

"No" Penwarden shook his head firmly. "Technically you did die, but some people... people like us are different... we don't stay dead. For all intents and purposes, Morgan, you are Immortal. You will no longer age, almost any injury you sustain, will heal in a fraction of the time". He paused to let it sink in, feeling Morgan's odd eyes boring into him as though she sought to divine the truth for herself. He felt the confusion in her, the turmoil, the fear and the curiosity. "When the police found you this morning, I think you had most of the clip of a small calibre handgun in your head and chest" he continued. "And now there isn't a mark on you. Apart from the tingling in your neck and the pain in your head you are in the best health you have ever been in".

Her gaze sharpened.

"I feel it too" Martin confirmed. "It's how we know when another like us is nearby. You'll become accustomed to it in time and it won't usually be so painful. It's not all good news though, I'm afraid. You are in a great deal of danger".

Morgan tensed abruptly. That was to be expected of course. Martin held up his hands placatingly and shook his head. "Not from me" he swore. "That I promise you, I will never harm you. I am not a threat to you Morgan Doyle" he locked his gaze on hers, maintaining eye contact and praying for the bewildered woman to believe him. "Your life has been changed forever" he continued. "It happened to me too".

1646, Pendennis Castle, Falmouth, Cornwall

_The summer of 1646 was intensely hot. The garrison of Pendennis Castle had never known a season like it. The fields were baked and cracked and even the shallower wells had dried up. The castle was situated high on a hill, overlooking the surrounding area and the town and harbour of Falmouth. Across the bay stood St Mawes Castle; both had been built along with the harbour to defend the Cornish coast from the Spanish Armada. Pendennis' vantage point gave the defenders a great advantage when it came to holding out against a beseiging force. In March of that year, the mighty defences were put to the test when the Parliamentarian Army arrived to try to capture the last Royalist stronghold in the South West._

_Martin Penwarden was a member of the garrison on that Spring day when the Roundhead's arrived, attacking the fortress from both land and sea. They quickly cut the castle's lines of supply and communication with trenches and gun positions. Spies reported that these ran all the way from Gyllyngvase on the west down to the harbour. He was worried, rumour had spread that St Mawes had fallen immediately and the garrison commander, Sir John Arundel had passed his eightieth year. He needn't have been concerned, however; Arundel was a prominent loyalist who was determined to support his King, come what may against Parliament's unholy revolution. When Fairfax demanded that the garrison surrender, a messenger was sent out with a firm refusal._

_Courageous as the garrison and commander of Pendennis Castle were, they could not hold out forever in the face of dwindling supplies and ammunition. As the siege wore on, the 900 defenders, their women and children were reduced to eating horse and even dog meat. The news of other Parliament victories only added to the problems of desertion of the troops. Four months passed and finally Arundel called on his men to attempt to break out. Martin was one of these who had laboured in the tin mines before the war. He and his colleagues where called upon to tunnel out beneath the enemy trenches. It was back breaking labour made no easier by thirst and hunger. Their lives were in constant danger from tunnel collapses and indeed, this happened more than once._

_The men (in centuries to come they would be nicknamed 'Clay Kickers') had been underground for several days and were well outside the castle walls, under the moat when they first heard the sound that they all knew very well indeed. The enemy was tunnelling towards them! Swiftly the Royalists changed direction, digging towards the noise of the Roundheads, realising that they had to prevent them from breaking through into the castle. In the tight space there was little room to move and absolutely no way to draw even the smallest blade. They were reduced to using pistols and a fierce fight ensued. When the ammunition ran out, the combatants resorted to their fists. When the struggle was finally over, all the men on both sides had been killed. Those that had survived the fighting were drowned moments later as the roof of the tunnel collapsed, allowing the water of the moat to come flooding in. However, the Royalists' had succeeded in stopping the Parliamentarians getting into their stronghold._

_The surge of water washed the corpses back up the tunnel towards the castle, stopping just a few feet inside the entrance. Martin gasped for breath and clawed for purchase on the wet earth. His throat felt like it was on fire. He remembered the pistol, just inches in front of him and thanked God that the bullet must have missed. Little did he know that it had, in fact passed straight through his throat and killed him instantly. He knew something was different as he finally managed to crawl out of the tunnel, but all that mattered was that none of his comrades followed him. A month later, the garrison was finally starved into honourable submission. John Arundel surrendered on August 17th 1646._

Sheraton Hotel, Vancouver, 21st Century

"Immortal..." Morgan's voice was a harsh whisper, her body shaking with fear as adrenaline fuelled instincts peaked. "Mister I have heard some bullshit in my time, I have been accused of many things but you really take the biscuit and top it with icing sugar!"

Martin nodded wordlessly and strode from the lounge into the bedroom. A moment later, he returned, carrying a small dagger. He stopped in front of the terrified woman and pushed the handle into her grip. As soon as she had hold of it he opened his fist and placed his palm against the point of the blade. "If you won't believe your ears, will you believe your eyes?" he asked her, seriously. Then he pushed the open palm forward and the end of the knife disappeared into his hand. A slow trickle of blood ran down the white flesh from the wound and soaked into the cuff of his shirt, but he continued until the point of the dagger split through the skin on the back of his hand, having gone all the way through. "Hurts like hell, but it saves a fortune on private medical insurance" he grinned. Morgan's gaze was fixed on the knife and his bleeding palm as he took a deep breath and wrenched the hand free. She was left with the bloodstained knife held in her left hand. After a moment it tipped clumsily and fell from her stiff, grey fingers. Penwarden pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his palm as best he could, before holding the hand up in front of her. "See?"

Morgan swallowed and moaned, unable to vocalise whatever was going through her mind. Cautiously she reached out and brushed the place where the wound had been with the tips of her fingers. It was gone, without even leaving a scar. Her eyes rolled back and she collapsed in a dead faint. Penwarden sighed. "Women!" he muttered.

Shortly, Morgan awoke on the sofa, to find a blanket pulled over her and a cushion placed under her head. She pushed herself gingerly into a sitting position, glancing around her for any sign of Penwarden. He was seated across the room, in an armchair beside the window and drinking a mug of herbal tea. He looked across at her and smiled kindly. "Feeling better?" he asked.

She opened her mouth, but for some reason the words died in her throat and, instead, she simply nodded.

One of Penwarden's eyebrows arched ever so slightly, it was the only outward reaction he gave and he remained silent, as though he had not noticed the nod and was still waiting for her answer.

Morgan's head dropped, as though in exhaustion and she rubbed her temples for a moment before gradually becoming aware of an object on the arm of the sofa beside her. Moving her hand to pick it up, the object slid down onto the cushions. It was the telephone. The receiver had come away from the cradle and the burr of the dialling tone could clearly be heard coming from the earpiece. Her mind raced with thoughts and questions. _Was he toying with her? Had he deliberately left the phone within her reach to lull her into a false sense of security? Was he waiting for her to try and call for help before attacking and then… _an image flashed into her mind, breaking the rapid train of thoughts and she struggled to drive the memory away and bury it again. All this time, Martin remained where he was, sipping his tea and watching her closely. _Was there malevolence in his silence? _Morgan wondered. _Or was he merely waiting for something? Waiting for someone to knock at the door? Was he part of that 'church' that had been pestering her for months? She didn't know who they were but she was certain a truly Christian organisation would not behave like that. A man they called The Leader had preached against her, there had been posters, graffiti, a leaflet campaign, criminal damage and then last night... the memory was hazy and painful... the kiss... the broad iron vicelike grip on her windpipe... and the gunshot... _She shuddered and whimpered.

_There goes the last brick, the wall is back up_ Penwarden told himself regretfully. _Is there no helping this kid?_ He looked across at her and held up his mug. "Interesting blend… I'm rather partial to Earl Grey myself. Want to try some?"

Morgan drew her legs up so that her knees were bent in front of her chest. "If you're waiting for me to say that I'm afraid of you… I'm not!" she told him, fiercely.

Penwarden placed the mug down on a side table and steepled his fingers, staring at her over the top of them. "I wasn't waiting for that... but you should be" he replied. "You should be afraid of me, of people like me…like you… like us." Her face started to flush and Penwarden knew she was going to have a panic attack. Why was it always like this? Just once he wished it could be just a simple "Hi I'm Immortal, so are you. Now let me teach you how to use a sword so you can stop your head being cut off". No this was just going to be another disbeliever. Now if he was the other type of immortal ignorance in a victim would be a blessing. Hell, being Martin Penwarden was never easy. "No good deed goes unpunished." He reminded himself.

Finally she looked up at him. "It's true… isn't it" she whispered.

Martin nodded. _At last!_ "It's true" he replied.

Morgan's expression was attentive, but at the same time, distant. A deep silence hung between them for several seconds before she spoke again. The words were whispered and, perhaps more to herself than to Martin, but he heard them clearly enough all the same. "I'd... like to go home now please..."

"That may not be possible" he answered regretfully. "The authorities know you died last night. By now detectives will be swarming all over your shop and your home. Your bank accounts may even be frozen... It's possible to get around some of that and retrieve some of your assets, but I'm afraid that right now, going home isn't an option".

"What am I going to do? Where do I go?" Morgan looked justifiably alarmed.

"You don't know me from Adam, so I don't expect you to accept, but I have already offered to protect and teach you. That offer includes supporting you, whatever you need until we can re-establish you with a new identity".

"Support me... But..."

"You can stay here tonight and I will take the couch. I'll order whatever you need from the concierge in the line of clothing and toiletries. It will take at least until tomorrow to find out what has become of your estate anyway".

There was a moment's silence as Morgan mulled the offer over. "Thank you... I... you're ... you're very kind..." her voice was sincere but her face and her eyes were utterly miserable. Martin felt for her. In one fell swoop, the young woman had lost everything including her home and her livelihood as well as her literal life. He felt a surge of anger at the man who had committed the deed.

"Why…"

"… you?" Penwarden cut her off. "Why did it happen to you? No one knows. I'll do what I can, but I'm afraid there are some questions that simply have no answers. You'll just have to try to find your own in the years to come". _If you survive that long_ he sighed. So many young Immortals did not survive their first encounter with another of their kind. "There is a lot I can teach you, however".

"Such as?" Doyle looked slightly wary.

"The Rules… for a start".

"Rules?" Now there was nothing 'slightly' about it. The woman's body tensed like a coiled spring.

"Yes, the Rules of Immortal existence. I'm afraid there are rather a lot of them. The rules that people like us must live by. You'll learn in time. Most of us abide by them; it's the ones that don't that you have to worry about". Martin leaned over to the mini bar, plucked out a couple of bottles of mineral water and cracked one open as Morgan took in what he was saying. "Are you a religious person?" he asked, finally.

"Why do you ask?"

Martin shrugged. "Let's just say that the odd trip to a church or temple could save your life".

"Meaning?"

"That headache you have, which is caused by the nearby presence of others like us will feel slightly different with each one you meet. Eventually you will be able to differentiate between friends, enemies and strangers. For now though, whenever you feel such a sensation, the wisest course of action for you to take would be a trip to the nearest piece of holy ground. You'll be safe there".

Morgan took a long swallow of the glass of cola that was still left over from dinner, wrinkling her nose as the carbonate bubbles tickled her nostrils.

"Do you understand Miss Doyle? Your life may depend on it! If you can't find Holy Ground, then go somewhere with a lot of people. Our kind does not conduct their business in public".

"I understand… it just sounds so…"

"Absurd? I know it does. My reaction was just the same when I first learned what I was. But you must believe what I tell you and follow my advice if you want your head to stay on your shoulders".

Every drop of blood suddenly drained from Morgan Doyle's face and she turned as white as a sheet. "I… I don't like the turn this conversation is taking" she whispered.

Martin shook his head. "I'm sorry, but there's no other way I can break it to you. Let your guard down… lose concentration for a moment in the vicinity of Another and it's Endgame. You can run from danger, but sometimes that won't be possible. You must learn to defend yourself…"

The Immortal man was interrupted by a knock at the door. Morgan flinched at the sudden noise. Martin smiled reassuringly and shook his head. "You'd have sensed a presence long before now" he promised. "I expect it's just the concierge with the things we ordered". So saying, he moved to the door, being careful to block the view into the room with his body as he opened it. Has he had suggested, it was indeed the concierge, laden down with bags and boxes from several ladies' clothing concerns as well as a suit bag from a gentleman's tailors. Penwarden thanked him and signed the receipt before relieving the man of his burdens.

Half an hour later, the two Immortals walked side by side down the street from the hotel. For some distance not a word was exchanged between them. Morgan had simply protested of needing some air and Martin acquiesced. Finally they came to an intersection. "We need to continue our conversation" he told the younger woman softly. "But the street is far too public a place to discuss such matters… I have to defer to your local expertise. Is there somewhere we can go? A Park or a public building for example?"

Morgan pursed her lips in thought and Martin fancied that he could almost see the steampunk cogs of her mind turning as she considered the problem. "You said… Churches are safe, right?" He nodded, pleased that she had taken that information on board. "Then how about there?" She pointed into the distance where the gothic spires of an imposing spiritual edifice fought for attention with the glass and steel of more modern structures.

"Perfect".


	3. Fears Must Be Faced

Inside, the church was dimly lit, cool and quiet. The air still bore the residual odour of incense from the last service. Most importantly, there was hardly anyone there. They sat about half way down the aisle, well away from listening ears, but Martin made sure that they were enough in the line of sight of onlookers that Morgan did not feel too uncomfortable. "I'm sorry to spring this on you" he told her sincerely. "But your life depends on it now. We can't put this off any longer".

Morgan nodded, her eyes on the stained glass window over the altar. Not for the first time, Martin wondered what could have happened just before she had died to make her so nervous. "There's no easy way to tell you how your life is going to change Miss Doyle. Nobody knows how or why Immortals are born, but they are and, unfortunately each with a measure of strength that others of their kind find worthy of killing for". As he had half expected, she stiffened at his words and flinched away. Penwarden caught her sleeve, just momentarily enough to stay her from fleeing. "It's alright… you're safe here, besides, I have no intention of laying so much as a hand on you, I swear".

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"If I meant to hurt you, I could have done so a dozen times before now. I would most likely simply have taken your head while you lay in the Coroner's care".

She flushed a little "I suppose so…"

Martin nodded approvingly. "I want to help you Miss Doyle. Is that so hard for you to believe?"

Her head dropped a little and she regarded her hands pensively.

"I see. Now… as soon as possible you must learn to fight so that you can defend yourself. As I said earlier, you are Immortal; but only so long as your head stays on your shoulders. If you lose your head, it's over and all your strength and knowledge passes to your opponent. We call it the Quickening".

"And if I… cut off their head?"

"Then their strength passes to you, of course… but that will not happen unless you learn to defend yourself. If you'll agree to trust me, I can teach you what you need to know to survive".

"What about... an accident... or suicide... If the Immortal, say, wanted to end it and lay down on the railroad tracks".

"I suppose if no other Immortal is near at the moment of the beheading, the Quickening would just... dissipate" Martin allowed himself a faint thrill of hope. It was an intelligent question. It showed she was paying attention, taking him seriously.

Morgan was silent for several long moments as she pondered the situation. When she lifted her head it was to gaze upon the statue of the Holy Mother at her side altar in the Lady Chapel, rather than the great wooden crucifix suspended behind the main altar. Whether she was praying, meditating or just thinking, the feminine image seemed to offer some kind of prompt for an answer. "What other choice do I have?" she asked eventually.

Martin nodded to himself. "It's getting late" he had noticed that the sky outside had darkened and night was falling fast. "Let me take you back to the hotel".

The street outside was quiet, the lamps just starting to cast a silver glimmer over the damp concrete pavement. The air was icy and fresh and smelt faintly of the evening snow shower that threatened. Morgan and Martin walked in silence past the warmly lit bars, restaurants and darkened shops until Penwarden hesitated, glancing around them. Morgan looked at him in alarm as a chill went down her back. Martin was standing at the entrance to a dimly lit alleyway. "There's another Immortal near" he hissed. "Get as close to the wall as you can, stay in the shadows and keep perfectly still!"

"What's happening?" she asked as she shrank back against the wall and huddled down as small as she could make herself in the dark, cold gap behind the dumpsters.

"Don't worry. Just stay where you are until I find out who's out there and whether or not it's safe" he flashed her a reassuring smile as he drew a very old and (to Morgan's alarmed eyes) terrifyingly, unmistakeably real sword from beneath his coat.

Penwarden moved swiftly and quietly along the alleyway, keeping eyes and ears alert to any sign of the nearby Immortal. Morgan watched him go with a shiver that had little to do with the temperature. Suddenly there came a roar of a battle cry and a shadowy figure leapt to the ground behind Penwarden, his sword raised in an attack. The hidden woman gasped in fear and immediately covered her mouth with her hands, lest she give away her presence to the stranger. There was a silver arc as Martin spun on one heel, bringing his 17th century mortuary sword up to parry the attack. Clashing metal echoed up and down the alley for what seemed like an eternity, but by some miracle, the noise did not attract any attention from the main street. After several long minutes that seemed torturous to Morgan, she heard Penwarden laugh. The combatants separated and lowered their weapons. To Morgan's surprise, they clasped hands and hugged one another like long lost brothers. She couldn't hear the verbal exchange between them and she did not dare move until Martin turned and crept back in her direction. He was grinning and moving carefully so as not to startle his young student. "It's alright" he called. "Come out, I'd like you to meet a very old friend of mine".

Morgan swallowed and licked her dry lips before moving timidly forward into the pool of light cast from the street lamp.

"Penwarden! You sly old Royalist dog! Where did you find this flame haired beauty?" The newcomer gawped shamelessly at the fire-like highlights that the old orange sulphur lights cast into Morgan's hair.

Martin snorted "You make it sound like an insult. The situation is not like that".

"Really, now? That's what you said the last time". He nodded towards Morgan.

Martin rolled his eyes. "You truly are a shallow man. Typical Parliamentarian! Anyway, William Farrell, may I present Miss Morgan Doyle".

Farrell grasped Morgan's hand, conveniently ignoring the soft squeak of protest at the contact as he gave a courtly bow and raised it towards his lips. "Madam, it is an honour to make the acquaintance of such an exquisite jewel as yourself". She flinched and wrenched her hand away as though his touch burned, retreating to a position slightly behind Penwarden. Farrell frowned and raised a surprised eyebrow towards Martin, who shook his head slightly. Farrell cleared his throat. "My dear Lady, I must apologise, I meant no offence".

"Miss Doyle is somewhat selective of her acquaintances" Martin explained to him quietly. "And clearly, her tastes do not extend as low as a Roundhead".

"Penwarden, you wound me. Your wit is as sharp as your blade, dull and unkempt".

"Ah, but a dull blade is a cruel device to prolong your enemy's suffering".

"As I said, like your wit".

Despite herself, Morgan felt a flicker of amusement at the exchange. However, it did not reach her face; she would not permit herself the weakness of vulnerability that it would bring, not even for a moment.

As Penwarden and Farrell conversed, her attention wandered and her eyes scanned the growing crowds of weekend evening revellers out on the main street. A faint, but vaguely familiar shiver ran down the back of her neck and suddenly she froze as a disturbing sight flit across her field of vision. Cruel blue eyes pierced her very heart with knives of ice. Crowds of women of all ages hung on him, literally, listening with puppy-like adoration to his every word, his every command and proclamation.

_His breath smelt fresh and insanely normal. His eyes were flashing with sadistic delight as he watched her struggle. She gasped, desperate to breathe, but no air entered her lungs. His hands were like an iron bar crushing down on her throat. She clawed at them with what little strength she had, but it was no use. Her vision narrowed as though she were looking through a tunnel, resistance was impossible as the weight of his body pinned her to the floor. "I am your GOD! Your existence is an affront to ME! How dare you presume to place yourself on a level with My Holiness, Witch!"_

"Morgan! Morgan!"

A hand on hers, the sound of her name and the snapping of fingers close to her face brought her attention back to the present and out of the grip of the terrible memory.

"Are you alright? You look spooked!" Martin had good reason to sound concerned. The woman's face had turned grey as ash and she was trembling. In her trance-like state she had pressed herself hard against the wet brick wall that bordered the alley, squeezing almost completely into the tight gap between it and the dumpster.

"I…. I….. saw…." She licked her dry lips and gasped, drawing a hoarse breath as the light of the Quickening danced over her skin, closing the scrapes and bruises from her hiding place. "It was... Him".

"Who? Who did you see?"

She shook her head despairingly, unable to vocalise her thoughts. "Him…" she whispered. "The one who….

"Someone who hurt you, child?" Farrell took a step closer but Penwarden raised his hand to stay him, prevent him from inadvertently crowding the girl.

"No... someone who killed her..." Martin did not know where the flash of insight came from, but judging by the haunted look in his student's eyes he was willing to bet that it was probably fairly accurate.

Morgan sighed heavily and nodded. Suddenly, she was exhausted as she had ever been as she watched Martin scan the street around them. There was a temporary lull in the crowd and there were relatively few people within sight, none of whom paid the trio any mind.

"There's no one around Miss Doyle" Farrell frowned. "Are you certain that you did not imagine him to be here?"

"Of course I'm certain!" she snapped defensively. "Right there!" she gestured across the street to the door of a nightclub, which was guarded by three heavy set men wearing suits and the ID arm bands of a private security company.

"Hey, hey. Calm down. It's ok, there's no one there. You probably just imagined..." Penwarden could have kicked Farrell at that point.

"No! He's real and he was right there!" She turned and pointed towards the night club again. "He thinks he's some kind of god and... said something about not allowing me to steal his powers... I..." she staggered against the wall. "Sulis... Great Lady, Holy Queen, oh Sulis Minerva, help me!" she whimpered softly.

Penwarden and Farrell exchanged glances before either could speak Morgan had darted between them and fled. "Hell, here we go! Look, next time you take the hard ones." Penwarden sighed.

"No way, old friend. You're the expert. Besides shouldn't you go after her?"

Penwarden rolled his eyes, stowed his sword and did so.

"Ok lady just give me your money and jewellery and no one gets hurt!"

Morgan turned. How long had she been walking? How long since she had stopped running? She had no idea, but one thing she did know was that she was angry and afraid. She didn't even look at her would be mugger as she spun round lashing out with the heel of her hand. The startled thug was knocked off his feet onto his back, the wind escaping his lungs with an explosive 'oof'.

"Boy! Remind me not to get on the wrong side of you!" She turned again. Her fist shot out and stopped mere inches from the new intruder's face. "I think you've broken his ribs."

"You're lucky your nose is in one piece. Were you going to just let him mug me? Very magnanimous of you!" She spat.

Martin gazed at her steadily. "You don't need any help from me or anyone else defending yourself from the mortal thuggish scum of this world" he retorted calmly, gesturing at the doubled over would-be mugger and then at Morgan's clenched fist. "This is part and parcel of your new 'gig'. Some of it you must learn but much of it is instinctual... almost like some kind of race memory. You know..." he chuckled "the bizarre thing is that almost none of us truly knows where we came from. We are foundlings or adoptions or some such. Male or Female we all carry the knowledge and the strength within us to fight... and to win. The power is not in your muscles, Morgan. It comes from your soul. You must use it wisely".

Doyle quirked a lopsided shaky grin. "Luminous Beings are we, not this crude Matter" she quoted.

"Don't you dare call me Master Yoda" Penwarden threatened. "Besides I see myself as Qui Gon Jinn".

Morgan snickered nervously and then began to giggle. Martin joined her and the pair laughed for almost a minute before Martin sobered. "We really should get back to the hotel" he suggested. "You've had a trying day and you should attempt to get some sleep". He also wanted to scan the news channels for any local programming that might mention the attack on Morgan's shop. If it was newsworthy then he would probably have to think about getting her out of the city soon before she was recognized… if not, well then they might have a little time to attempt to recover something of her personal life.

The next morning, Penwarden awoke early, very early. So early in fact that it was still the middle of the night. He lay on his back with his hands folded beneath his head, briefly wondering what had roused him at this hour. He stared at the ceiling, which was invisible in the pitch blackness and listened. The only thing he could see was the steadily flashing red LED that indicated the fire alarm was active. Faintly, through the adjoining wall with Morgan's bedroom he heard the sounds of restless movement and laboured gasps and moans. These soon died away, melting into heart-rending, stifled sobs. Martin slid out of his makeshift bed on the sofa and pulled his trousers on. Barefoot, he padded across the room and knocked lightly on the bedroom door.

"Morgan?" he called softly. "Morgan, it's Martin. Are you alright?"

The sobs were instantly muffled even further and the suite was uncomfortably quiet for several seconds. "I'm fine!" Her voice was trembling and she sounded anything but. "I'm fine… just... go…"

"Alright… You know where I am if you need me. Goodnight". Morgan did not reply and Martin turned and went back to his sofa. As he lay down, he was filled with unease. In the bedroom, the crying was muffled but still audible and it continued unabated. As the grey light of dawn filtered through the curtains, Penwarden fell into a light doze. He awoke sometime later to the soft murmur of the television in the bedroom. He had keen hearing and it didn't take a moment for him to detect that Morgan had turned it to one of the local radio stations. The current selection was a lively piece of Swing music. He groaned. Of all the dire tastes in music! Shaking his head, he slipped into the bathroom and stepped under the shower.

By the time he had finished and returned to the lounge in fresh clothes, Morgan had emerged from the bedroom and was standing near the window gazing out over the city, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands. Martin coughed, announcing his presence. "Good morning" he smiled as he tested the temperature of the kettle with the back of his hand. It was still hot and he started to prepare a drink for himself. After a moment's thought, he decided to cut straight to the chase. "Do you always sleep so badly?" he enquired gently.

"It was... just a dream... no big deal".

"I see. Have you been up long?"

She shrugged noncommittally

"Insomnia is nothing to be ashamed of Morgan".

"Look... I don't want to talk about it... Not now, not yet..."

"Morgan..."

"Please, just... let it go"

Martin's gaze was implacable and, unable to hold it, Morgan sank into the nearest armchair.

"I am not the only one who has things they don't want to talk about" the younger woman remarked with incredible insight.

She was so close to the mark that Martin almost flinched. He remembered that horrible afternoon twenty years ago. The first time since he had died that he had felt helpless. A flash of white hot anger jolted through him. "You have no idea! You couldn't possibly understand, so leave it! Leave it. My problems are my own!" _She's right _he acknowledged reluctantly. _I am guilty... guilty of allowing my student to get into a battle he could never win. I am as guilty of murder as if I'd taken his head myself._

"So take your own advice and leave mine to me! Why do you keep pushing me to talk? Last night I tried to confide my fear in you but you and your friend didn't believe me. You treated me like... like a... hysterical female!"

" Can't you accept that I just want to help you?"

"You really want to know what my problem is… You want to hear my life story! Ok…" Her voice was filled with emotions, conflicting anger, hurt and bitterness.

Penwarden felt his chest grow tight as he realised that his words had cut her deeply, even though it had not been his intention.

"I grew up in a Commune" she began, her mismatched eyes seeming to turn inwards in memory. "Yeah... a Hippy Commune where they shared everything, food, chores, partners... children" she shrugged. It was really messed up. Of course I didn't realise just how messed up until a long time later. Like you said, I don't know exactly who my parents are. The names on the birth certificate where the leader of the Commune and his sister". She paused and pulled a face. "They weren't taking any chances... it was right after Waco. The Earth was shaking and these... black monsters with no faces were everywhere... People were screaming and running away from the monsters... They smashed in the doors and threw gas in through the windows. I remember my eyes burning so that I couldn't see and I tried to scream but the grown ups were screaming louder when they grabbed them and dragged them away."

_SWAT _Martin realised. _The Police in their black uniforms and masks must have been terrifying to a small child. _

"I don't think I saw any of them again, none of the other kids and certainly none of the adults. There were more monsters with white coats – they had eyes, but no mouths... no noses - and they kept sticking sharp things in my arms and hands. Couple of times they took my blood out. I was so scared. I thought they were going to do bad things to me. They never told me it was medicine. None of them... ever even took their surgical masks off... I didn't find out about childhood vaccinations until I turned 21 and got access to my own records.

It turned out that after they'd busted the Commune, the authorities tried to reunite blood families. Out of all the children in that house, I was the only one they couldn't pin down to parents. Guess Mom and Dad skipped out". Morgan shrugged casually, as if the abandonment meant nothing. "After that it was Foster Homes for a few years then I was on my own. I stopped using my awful hippy name and started calling myself by my middle name instead. Guess I've always been on my own in a way".

Martin heard the unspoken words. _You're the first person who's offered their hand to me._

"And I was happy" Morgan continued. "I had my livelihood, and my health. You might even say life was perfect... But it all changed. It just transformed overnight like someone snapped their fingers".

"That suddenly?" Penwarden frowned, certain there must have been more to it than that.

"This... Church... moved in a few blocks down from my store. They couldn't have finished unpacking their bibles when they were giving me hassle. Graffiti on the windows, dog mess sent in packages, vigils outside on a Saturday afternoon. I think there was even a couple of attacks on my website. I called the police every time but by the time a constable showed up they were always long gone. One cop even told me they had a right to express their religious views and _I _needed to stop harrassing them!" she snorted in derision; clearly expressing her thoughts on THAT suggestion. "Then this guy showed up and basically told me to leave town or God would rip me a new one... I laughed at him and he started screaming about how HE was God and he would not tolerate me soiling His Holy presence. It was so weird. And... a couple of nights ago..." She trailed off.

"The Church is responsible for turning your store over?"

"Yeah... and the God guy... They called him The Leader... he was the one... he was crushing so tight... I can't remember anything else except..."

"Except?" Penwarden prompted gently

"He kissed me... promised he'd find me again" Morgan shivered. "I saw him on the street yesterday... and last night I'd swear I heard his voice in the hallway..." Martin was silent as she sank back into her chair, empty and hollow; drained of spirit. "You didn't believe me... I figured there was no point in telling you"

On one level Martin's thoughts were professional and corresponded completely with what he had earlier said about wanting to help. However, he was also a compassionate man and Morgan's sad story had grieved him greatly, whether she knew it or not. The guilt about his outburst earlier remained and ruthlessly he pushed it back, out of his conscious thoughts. Methodically he refreshed the water in the tiny hotel kettle, waited for the coffee to brew and refilled both mugs before topping them off with milk and sugar. Penwarden did not doubt that revealing her private fear was a positive step forward for Morgan, yet he knew that it was only the first step on what was likely to be a very long road. Before long, old wounds would be reopened before they could begin to heal cleanly.

_She needs help_ Penwarden said to himself. _Perhaps it was Providence that brought me to Vancouver, but the onset of Immortality is traumatic enough without it coming as a consequence of prolonged torture and psychological torment at the hands of such a brute._

Morgan looked up slowly as Martin approached. He was observant and caught the wariness in her eyes. What had seemed like eccentricity now made perfect sense. Her hatred of physical contact, her distrust, her insomnia; it was obvious that Morgan Doyle lived in the shadow of perpetual fear and Martin could have kicked himself for not putting the pieces together sooner. However, the incident outside the nightclub on the previous evening was still somewhat of a mystery. Had she really seen her killer last night? Heard him early this morning? Or was his appearance simply a figment of a paranoid imagination?

She took the coffee mug from him with a murmur of thanks and sniffed it cautiously as Martin now realised was her habit. "You can trust me Morgan" he smiled.

Morgan looked slightly sheepish and hurriedly took a swallow of coffee "I'm sorry" she whispered.

"Don't be" replied Martin. "Caution can be healthy. It can be the difference between life and death. The problem comes when it stops you living. I know it won't be easy for you, but in the meantime you have nothing to apologise for".

One Week Later

"Well Penwarden? Aren't you going to tell me how you and your Ember Haired Beauty are getting along?" grinned Farrell over the rim of his beer bottle.

Martin rolled his eyes. "Two thousand years and your mind is still in the gutter".

"Quite, but droll as your observation may be, it doesn't answer my question".

"Firstly, she is not mine. Secondly, 'the Ember Haired Beauty' is giving me heartburn".

Farrell chuckled at Penwarden's response. "Loosely translated, she is difficult?" he suggested.

"She is not so much difficult as she is complicated".

"So what's the problem? Get a sword in her hand and teach her to put it to good use".

"William, you have a reputation as a good teacher. Let me finish speaking before you start looking too pleased with yourself. It's easy to be a good teacher when all you have to do is guide and polish visible talent. Just as there are talented students, there are students who find it difficult. Morgan is one of these. Of course she will take more time to learn, but learn she will; I guarantee it".

"I still don't see why it matters that she is 'complicated'".

Martin sighed as he tried to figure out how to explain the situation to his former mentor without revealing what his student had confided in him. "Like exacting doctors who only treat the condition, not the patient; you taught the practicalities of Immortal life but did little to guide your students into their new world. This 'Ember Haired Beauty' as you call her, is a human being. She needs to be treated as human, not as hysterical chattel and not as a dull witted student".

1649, Texel, The Netherlands

_You really know how to pick 'em, don't you Farrell! The fifteen hundred year old Parliamentarian groaned into his ale as his new student dropped his blade again. He had saved the new Immortal from the traitor's fate of being hung, drawn and quartered but he was beginning to wonder about the wisdom of his action. "Penwarden! You have got to do better than this! Improve fast before you lose your head!"_

_"I cannot! The move is impossible!"_

_Farrell rolled his eyes and moved in to correct the younger man's stance. "Here; like this. That's better. Now try again"_

_On the next attempt, Martin got a better handle on the manoeuvre, but it was still not good enough for his exacting teacher. Farrell was determined that the 'boy' was going to learn to fight and learn very quickly. He picked up his sword and advanced in long swift strides, swinging hard as Penwarden attempted to counter. The older Immortal let out a snarl of rage; knocking his student backwards with each blow until he was backed against the edge of the dyke with only the sea behind him. "What are you doing man!" he yelled, his voice wavering in fear. "The water...!"_

_"It's quite simple. Fight me off or you drown!" Another barely blocked blow struck his blade and the stonework crumbled slightly under Martin's foot._

_"I cannot!"_

_"Drown then!" By now, William had lost his temper completely and railed on the younger man. Penwarden's terror was the only thing that kept him on his feet and moving on the precipitous edge of the dyke. Clenching his fists tighter about the grip of his sword, he saw the slightest gap and took it; so desperate to get away from the water that he sent Farrell flying to land hard in the mud, his blade skittering away from him to stick upright in the bank of a drainage canal. With a scream of primal fury, Penwarden attacked again; not giving Farrell the chance to regain his footing or his weapon. "Cease!" Farrell's yell, so reminiscent of the army commands he was trained to obey, stopped him in his tracks. He realised with some shock that he was mere inches from beheading the man who had taken it upon himself to teach him this new life._

Vancouver, 21st Century

William Farrell was silent and thoughtful for several long moments. "You may have a point, Royalist" he admitted finally. "But seriously, you mustn't delay much longer before you teach her to fight. More of us arrive in this stinking city every day and I fear that many of them will seek out and devour such fresh, innocent Immortal blood as hers".

"I intend to protect her from those animals Farrell. Mark my words, she will survive this Game".

Farrell leaned close and spoke softly. "Don't get too close Martin, you know how slim the chances are of newborn Immortals surviving the first ten years".

He sighed before answering. "I know you're right... and those that do survive are not those that fear the shadows in the night".

"This... 'person' that she says is following her?"

"Logic tells me that she's seeing things because she's expecting them. After all, neither of us saw this fellow the other night and she hasn't said anything about seeing him since. On the other hand I've spent time with her and I don't think she's given to random imaginings".

"But we can't be certain of that... of anything about the woman. Not even her name." Farrell drained his beer and stretched his legs under the table before digging in his pocket and shoving a printout of a registrar search at his friend.

"Many mortals don't use their legal names. It's not against the law, William. I already know Morgan is not the given name on her Birth Certificate".

"So what is her legal name? You've only known her a week or so. Are you sure it's wise to give her the benefit of the doubt at this stage?"

"For all we know she is being followed and the Leader bastard is sneakier than we are"

"Or you're getting softer in your advancing years. The child isn't going to survive without a whole lot of help. Are you prepared to keep her with you that long? We could be talking decades or even centuries!"

"I can't abandon her now. She's starting to trust me... God knows I think I'm the first person she's opened up to in years. I can't just turn my back on her".

Farrell nodded and smiled at his friend. "You won't be dissuaded, will you? Alright, I guess I'm aboard for the ride too. I always was a sucker for a beautiful face.

Penwarden rolled his eyes and chose to diplomatically ignore the last sentence. "Well, as wonderful as it has been chatting with you today, I have to get going. Things to do, people to see et cetera".

His friend chuckled. "If the heartburn becomes too much too bear, I will happily take your place Royalist".

Martin glanced at his watch as he boarded the tram and sighed to himself. He had stayed out longer than he had meant to. He thanked his lucky stars he was not married and would not suffer a tongue lashing for staying out. With his help, Morgan had managed to rescue some of her savings and transfer them into a new account under a pseudonym. Her next priority had been more clothes, leaving the Immortal man wondering just how many clothes a female required. He had decided to consider himself lucky when they left the Mall with less than 100 packages each. At that point, his student had professed an urge to get some exercise and made for the hotel pool and fitness suite. Martin gauged that she was safe enough in that environment and after taking precautions to ensure she could contact him if need be, he had gone in search of William Farrell.

Upon entering the hotel, the Receptionist called out to get his attention. She carried a room key card. "Compliments of the Sheraton Hotel, Mr Penwarden. You've been upgraded to a two bedroom suite on a complimentary basis for the duration of your stay".

He frowned, immediately suspicious. "That's very generous" he replied. "May I ask why?"

The woman looked awkward.

"Well?" Martin demanded.

"Your… Companion paid for the larger room and requested that we tell you it was complimentary" she confessed finally.

"Why on earth would she…" Martin wondered, mostly to himself.

"I'm sorry sir… I don't know" she proffered the key card again, the room number printed neatly on the cardboard sleeve.

"Thank you" Penwarden finally accepted it. "What about our personal effects?"

"The concierge arranged for them to be moved an hour ago sir. Your room is ready for occupation.

The immortal man nodded and headed for the lift. The room was on one of the highest floors of the hotel, key swipe access only and commanded a view of half of Vancouver. As soon as the doors opened on the right floor, Penwarden felt a distant Quickening. It was very young and held little real strength compared to that of an older immortal, but there was a power and a wisdom to it that few possessed. Over the last couple of days of close proximity, it was a presence that had started to become very familiar to him. He drew out the key card again and inserted it into the slot in the faceplate of the door. The light turned green and the lock clicked. Martin turned the handle and pushed the door open a fraction. "Morgan?" he called in warning. "Morgan, it's Martin. Are you here?" No gun fired and there was no violent reaction, he opened the door a little wider. His luggage and Morgan's shopping bags from earlier stood behind one of the sofas.

"Martin!" His student slid out from the shadowy gap behind the chair in the corner of the room.

"Morgan" he strode forward in concern. "What on Earth's going on?" he knelt beside her, coming to eye level.

"It was… good of them, wasn't it?" she whispered plaintively.

"Good of whom?" Penwarden frowned.

"The hotel… to offer the upgrade…" she wouldn't look at him.

"Child…" Martin laid a tentative hand over hers, which were clasped tightly in her lap. "Pull the other one. What's going on?"

"One of those church members was down in the reception… taking afternoon tea in the lounge or something I guess. She heard me give the room number when I asked for a fitness suite locker key. They can't find me… please don't let them find me!" Her voice rose in panic as she begged

"Anyone coming for you will have to go through me" Martin promised recklessly. "Are you sure this woman overheard you? Why the hell didn't you call straight away?"

Morgan nodded. "She looked right at me and just… smiled… this weird, nasty smile".

"I don't think we should wait much longer" Martin remarked. "It's time you learned to defend yourself. I know a place. We'll start tomorrow". He patted her hand gently and stood up. "Dibs on the master bedroom by the way".


	4. Not All Lessons Come From Books

The next morning, Morgan professed a desire to swim again, though this time she slipped down the back fire escape stairs more cautiously to the swimming pool. Acknowledging that the exercise was beneficial for her, yet reluctant to approach the water, Martin sat on a park bench in the hotel grounds near the fitness suite fire exit, where he had agreed to meet his student prior to beginning her training. He was sipping from a takeaway cup and idly watching the squirrels squabbling over a hidden cache of nuts when he felt the presence of another Immortal burning inside his mind.

"You know, you could subscribe to National Geographic and get the same view without the chill".

"And I could read the National Enquirer for my regular dose of useless gossip in the comfort of my own lounge, yet I choose to come out and socialise with you."

"Touche" Farrell sat down beside him. "So what's new?"

"I know what you're after William. Out with it!"

Farrell looked at him as though Martin's words had struck a mortal wound. "I have no idea what you're talking about".

"The Hell you don't! Why do you see every female as a challenge to be conquered? Leave her alone."

"And why do you see every woman as a poor wench who needs some chap in shining armour and riding a white steed to come rescue them?"

"I can't help what I am…. And I'll tell you something else. For a Roundhead, you have a very cavalier attitude!"

"And I cannot help what I am. As for the cavalier comment; coming from you, I'll treat that as a compliment."

"You also have a remarkable capacity for changing the subject. You know what I'm talking about, you know who I'm talking about. Keep your distance!"

"You really do care for the young and innocent ones, don't you?"

Penwarden nodded curtly. "Remember that Farrell. She IS innocent. I have seen the way you looked at her. She has already suffered at the hands of one predator, the last thing she needs is the attentions of another. If you touch one hair on her head, I swear I'll kill you"!

"I wouldn't expect anything less from a teacher... or a friend... or even a student".

Understanding passed between them.

"Well, you could attempt to kill me at least" Farrell grinned at his old friend

"You're joking right, this is a new jacket!" This last comment came over Martin's shoulder as he turned to toss his empty paper cup into the trash.

Half an hour later, Morgan's Quickening touched both men's consciousnesses. "I'd better go" Farrell remarked softly as he stood up. "Good luck". Without waiting for a reply he was gone, walking swiftly down the path in the opposite direction, deeper into the crowds on the street.

Days went by and Penwarden was gratified to discover that his student was not entirely without grace, balance and the other skills that conjoined to create a promising swordswoman. However, that her heart was troubled was obvious. One afternoon after sparring together they sat in a Baskin Robbins ice cream shop. Morgan ate slowly and methodically, barely fast enough to consume the dessert without it melting. Martin watched her quietly. She looked sick. He heard her moving around sleeplessly most nights. If she was tired, she couldn't fight; if she couldn't fight she would lose her head – literally. It was that simple. The waitress cracked a joke and Morgan nodded politely, a vague non-smile on her face. Martin realised, with a painful sensation in his gut, that he had only once heard her laugh. Silently he vowed that he would somehow put a smile back on her lips and make it the norm, not the rarity.

"Penwarden I am not a clown!" Farrell looked affronted and Martin burst into hearty laughter.

"Oh come on Roundhead" he grinned. "It's for a good cause. You like good causes."

"This is hardly on a par with donating a few pennies into a street tin. You asked me here for a spar… you dishonest…!"

"Takes one to know one. She'll be here any second, will you aide me or not?"

"Alright… alright" Farrell grumbled but his eyes twinkled faintly. "Who am I to refuse to humiliate myself for a Lady?"

"Good man!" Martin clapped his friend on the back. "Hush now, that feels like her". Through a filthy, cracked window he saw the dark haired woman crossing the empty forecourt in front of the warehouse. She hesitated a moment, hands thrust deep in her pockets as she; looked around her, getting a feel for her surroundings. Martin thought it prudent to go out and meet her before she panicked and took flight.

As she saw him step from the darkness, Morgan took her hands out of her pockets; however she remained at a slight distance from the building until Martin approached.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming"

She shrugged. "Not one of my usual haunts".

"No I thought not. However, it's the perfect spot to begin some more advanced exercises. No one will disturb us."

Morgan nodded then frowned and almost flinched. "Is someone else here?" She asked.

"There's no need to worry" Penwarden reassured. "It's just Farrell. He's agreed to participate in a demonstration dual… to help you see what you need to learn".

"I… I see"

"Don't worry, if he tries to 'hit on' you I promise he'll regret it. Come on in".

She followed him silently; her steps slow and measured yet soft enough that they barely whispered in the dust. When they entered the warehouse, Farrell hopped down from the crate he had been seated on and made a courtly bow to Doyle. "A pleasure to see you again, Fair Lady".

A faint scowl creased her features but she managed a curt nod. Farrell raised an eyebrow in Penwarden's direction. The Cornishman simply shook his head, indicating that Farrell should not push it any further.

The Parliamentarian stepped back and drew his blade with a flourish. "En garde you Cur!" he grinned.

Martin brought his own blade up in salute, accompanied by his own wolfish grin and attacked. The two duelled back and forth for some minutes in a seemingly serious fight. Then, Martin winked at William and the pattern changed somewhat. Casually turning his attention from his opponent, Farrell picked up a water bottle with a sports style cap and began to drink. All the while, the two swords flashed and met with the song of steel on steel. With the swordplay becoming horseplay, Morgan watched in mild bemusement yet her face maintained its' blank façade. No smile tugged the corners of her mouth; no light glittered in the hazel and sapphire pools of her eyes. She could not afford to let herself be drawn off guard, especially not in the presence of Farrell, whom she barely trusted. Just then, Martin started a sequence of moves that totally mystified her. He was, in fact, endeavouring to tap dance and in doing so, fell against Farrell sending them both crashing to the floor.

To her surprise and the surprise and pleasure of the two men, Morgan found herself laughing. Farrell and Penwarden disentangled themselves and stood up, dusting themselves down, each mocking affronted dignity. Martin watched with concealed approval as Morgan leant forward, elbows on her knees, breathless with the effort of her laughter. "Right…. William… I think that's a satisfactory demonstration, don't you?"

"Oh absolutely, Martin, absolutely". His answer might have been slightly too obvious to be believable, but Morgan didn't seem to mind. Martin's plan had come to pass perfectly. William made his excuses, shook his friend's hand, bowed to Morgan and went on his way leaving teacher and student alone together in the warehouse.

"What was that in aid of?" she asked.

"Not all lessons come from the outside. Today you remembered how to laugh – a valuable gift".

A month passed in which Morgan made great progress in her sword handling technique but little in her interpersonal skills. She and Martin moved from the Sheraton and into a more reasonably priced vacation apartment. Martin attended several probate auctions on Morgan's behalf and managed to rescue quite a number of her most precious possessions as the state sold them on behalf of the treasury. For this service he refused to take payment. It was enough for him to see the light in her face when he handed over her precious autographed Vancouver Canucks Ice Hockey stick. It was almost joyous. He was still worried though. Friday afternoon had almost become a ritual. Penwarden would wait while Morgan spent time alone in the park, praying or meditating, or whatever it was she did to commune with her Gods. Then he would escort her to 'Tequila's' a local Mexican restaurant and buy her dinner, which he would then make sure she ate. He was troubled at the looming prospect of his inevitable return to England and being forced to leave Morgan alone. He doubted she was ready to do without his support. Martin ruminated on this as he entered the park and approached the well concealed ring of bushes near the stream where Morgan liked to spend her moments of spiritual solitude. It was so quiet, it was unnerving. Not even the birds sang nor did the insects rustle. Several seconds passed before he realised he felt no Quickening.

"Morgan!" If he disturbed her meditations, he would just have to make it up to her later. He listened, but an answer never came. "Morgan!" he tried again, with the same result as he began to beat through the undergrowth. A couple of minutes were all it took Penwarden to search the area. Morgan was not there but her bag was neatly nestled up against the foot of an oak tree. Nearby, on a protruding root lay a smashed statuette; the torso and head of a naked man with the antlers of a stag. The immortal man frowned. He recognised it vaguely as something Morgan had displayed in her store. Now there was blood on it!

William Farrell poked at his plate of fries and scowled to himself. He had tried and failed to convince himself that the ache in his chest was heartburn. He knew full well that it was the fire of an unquenched thirst for vengeance. It had been so long and he was starting to believe that he would never find the monster he sought. He couldn't just give up. What good would it do? Who would avenge her if he did not? Penwarden had not bothered to ask why his friend had come to Canada. William suspected that he just assumed Farrell was on one of his many womanising wanders. He had not known her; never known that his former mentor had settled down and been happy for that brief blink of an eye. His ruminations were interrupted by the intrusion of the Quickening of another, followed mere seconds afterwards by an agitated fist that pounded on the door so hard that it shook. "Alright, alright" he grumbled to himself as he got up. "Who is it?" he demanded of the door; although the familiar sensation gave him a pretty good idea.

"It's me! Open the damn door Farrell!" Penwarden sounded as agitated as his Quickening felt. Unease spread through Farrell's nerves as he opened the door and his friend charged into the hotel room like a hurricane.

"What the hell is going on?"

"She's gone!"

"Huh?"

"Morgan's gone! I found her bag and I found blood... no other sign of her... apart from this. Tell me I'm not imagining it. It isn't fresh?" he proffered the broken statue as evidence.

"This stain is months old..." Farrell confirmed grimly. but... I thought this stalker or whoever was a figment of her paranoid imagination".

"Evidently she did have a reason to be afraid. William… I think she's in big trouble… I need your help. We have to find her!"

"You only had to ask old friend. Where do we start?"

For once, Penwarden looked lost.

"Perhaps…" a cold fist took hold of Farrell's heart and squeezed as he glanced at the bloodied statuette. "Does this belong to her?"

"I think... I saw it in her shop... before she died, could it be... "

_This is your chance! You can avenge her! _William told himself and then realised that his former student had spoken."Did you say something Martin?"

Martin hesitated and regarded his old friend warily. "No… What's wrong, William? I've never seen you this het up"

William's jaw flexed and he avoided Martin's steady gaze. "I've… seen this before. A disappearance... a personal object left in their place..." he mumbled then looked at Penwarden with a burning fury in his eyes. "Whoever took her is going to make her suffer. I failed to stop it once… I won't fail again! You say this thing came from her shop... then the shop is where we start!"

Penwarden was quite taken aback. However, he knew that the questions could wait until later. "My car's outside" he said quietly.

The street where Morgan had once traded was almost an hour's drive away through the rush hour traffic. The two immortals did not speak; each one tense with anticipation and, though they would not admit it, fear. The building was dark and deserted, windows and door boarded up and guarded by tattered crime scene tape. They had hardly expected to find it otherwise. Penwarden glanced at Farrell and shook his head questioningly. Farrell shook his in return. Neither of them could sense Morgan's Quickening and that was very bad. Working their way around the building they found an open door to the rear and entered, every sense on alert for any indication of danger in the darkness and silence. The gloom was punctuated here and there by the soft green glow of emergency lighting, indicating that the power grid was still connected.

"Someone's been paying the electric bill" Farrell remarked, his flippancy effectively covering his worry as his feet crunched in broken glass. "I don't sense her"

"Neither do I" Martin frowned. "Damn".

"Let's try the storeroom"

"I think that would be the basement".

"And this would be the basement door" Farrell agreed, pulling it open. To their surprise, the lights were on, illuminating the stairway.

"Bingo!" muttered Penwarden. "Let's get a move on" he drew his sword and cautiously stepped onto the first tread. It was blisteringly hot, almost like stepping down into the bowels of hell. He shuddered.

"Yeah..." Farrell answered softly. "Me too".

It was a small, two room basement. One room was for storage and the other which held the utilities for the building; furnace, circuit breakers and meters. The first room was pretty empty. It contained a few cardboard boxes, but these had been divested of their contents. It was not until they reached the entrance to the next room that both men stopped dead.

"You feel that?" Martin demanded as a weak Presence fluttered in the back of his mind.

Farrell nodded. "Morgan?" he asked.

"I think so".

Quietly, the Roundhead turned the door handle, using the reflection in the blade of his sword to see around the corner. Seeing no obvious danger he pushed the door wider. They were in the furnace room. It looked like the thing had been stoked right up and had been burning at full power for hours. The weak presence suddenly fluttered again and faded. Penwarden hit the light switch and the room was bathed in the dim glow of a single low wattage bulb. The feeble light shone upon horror.

1649

_Farrell gazed up at the Gallows and frowned as he watched the Executioner preparing the nooses. He mounted the steps and approached the hooded man. "That rope is too short." he pointed out. "The prisoner will strangle!"_

_The Executioner shrugged. "It's as much as these treasonous Cavaliers deserve" he growled. "Get out of the way!"_

_Wordlessly William surrendered and stepped back as the line of bound prisoners were hauled up the wooden steps. One by one they were lined up and the nooses tightened about their necks. The Executioner then began his grisly task; taking inordinate pleasure in the suffering he was inflicting. Farrell watched in horror as two prisoners with ropes that were too long lost their heads under the sudden pressure of the nooses and the third started to slowly strangle. Hideous gurgling sounds issued from his lips and a thick red line started to form on his throat. The Immortal let out a roar of fury and leapt forward. He grabbed the unfortunate man's legs and pulled hard. The prisoner's sickening struggles ended instantly as his neck broke._

_Ignoring the executioner's outraged tirade, he let go and staggered blindly away. As soon as he was alone, William Farrell slumped to his knees and began to sob. For the first time he knew that the cruelty the Royalists were accused of applied equally to his own side._

Vancouver, 21st Century

At some point in its' history, the building had housed a butcher's shop. Morgan's body hung in handcuffs from one of a row of meat hooks set into the concrete ceiling. She had been strangled with a great deal of force. The narrow wire of a lariat necklace was embedded so deeply in the flesh of her throat that blood had spilled down onto her shirt. The crimson gash beneath her jaw made it look as though her throat had been slit. Where her skin of her face was not ashen it was black with bruising or red with burns. There were countless contusions and she was as cold as ice. Many of the contusions bore a distinctive emblematic shape. It was almost like the woman had been branded. Her jaw was broken and hung slack, grotesquely distorting the throat wound that was now filled and surrounded with the same congealed crimson mess that trailed across the floor to an old drain. Martin couldn't tell if she were 'alive' or 'dead'.

William surged forward, shoving past his friend. Without waiting to see if the young Immortal was conscious or even 'alive' he pulled off his coat and laid it on the concrete floor before reaching up to the hook and lifting her down. Penwarden knelt beside him and touched her wrist, seeking a pulse.

"Sick fucking bastard…" The look Farrell fixed on Martin was cold and dangerous. "You'll have to pick the cuffs. I'm going after this freak! Take care of the kid."

"William, just hold on a damn second! We can't go in blindly."

"Listen to me Royalist! This ends now! I won't let another woman suffer that way, the way Miranda did… the way she is!" he gestured at Morgan's broken body.

"Who the hell is Miranda?"

"She was my wife! She was murdered! This..." He gently traced the emblem seared into the flesh over Morgan's collarbone "this mark was burned into her, just like this! The... THING who did this dies tonight!"

The outburst stunned Penwarden. He hadn't even realised his Mentor had been married. "Your wife wouldn't have wanted you to throw your life away! Use caution, Morgan won't be helped by you heading blindly into danger".

Reflexively, both men looked down only to see that her eyes had opened a slit. A faint gurgle came from her destroyed throat. "Hush" Penwarden soothed. "Stay still, don't try to talk"

Farrell crouched silently and stroked her hair "It's going to be alright, child" he whispered. "The Cavalry's here and we're gonna find the ass wipe that did this to you!"

Struggling to formulate the word, blood trickled from Morgan's mouth "T…t…..r….a...ap" she gasped.

"Don't worry… try and stay calm, you'll be ok!"

"Tr….tra...p! G'r'out!"

A Quickening flared in the minds of Farrell and Penwarden. Farrell whirled, bringing his sword up even as a gunshot cracked out like thunder in the enclosed space. Farrell fell back, hissing in pain, his sword arm going limp as blood pumped from the bullet wound in his shoulder. As he slid to the ground, he caught himself on the meter cabinet and managed to lash out a fortunately placed kick. Their foe dropped his firearm with a snarl and it skidded away into the shadowy recesses of the room.

Behind him, Penwarden snarled in fury, bringing his blade up, ready. Farrell rolled, managing to get close enough that he could shield Morgan's body with his. Ziegler's eyes widened in rage. He had not counted on two of the Demons to protect the Witch. Martin attacked and the insane villain dodged nimbly back, out of the way. Silently he gloated, congratulating himself on his own genius as he led the Demon closer to the furnace and the prepared blade waiting there. He could not win against two of them, but he could incapacitate this one and escape! One step more and he was close enough. On his right hand he wore an industrial heat proof glove. Using it, he snatched up the blade that had lain in the heat, now glowing white hot. Penwarden made another attack and Ziegler countered wildly. The white hot blade showered sparks and Ziegler smelled blood. The next thing any of them heard was the screams of the two men. Ziegler dropped his weapon and fled, clutching his eye, blinded by the molten metal even as Penwarden fell, his face ripped open, burnt and bleeding. Somehow, the Cornishman, through sheer grit managed to keep his sword up for a few more seconds before collapsing as the Quickening of Morgan's attacker faded from the senses of all three of them.

Farrell hurriedly started to wrap his coat around Morgan's battered body. The lariat he quickly deduced he could not pull free without causing severe damage so he elected to leave it in place for now, until they had light and tools to separate the wire from flesh. He wrapped the younger woman warmly, doing his best not to cause any more pain. By the time he was finished, and turned to check on his friend, Penwarden had won his battle with the pain and, although pale, was more or less back on his feet. His wound was now a livid red scar across his right cheek and temple. William scowled to himself. It didn't look like the blow had been that serious. "We've got to get her out of here" his voice brooked no discussion.

"Back to the hotel?"

"No... Somewhere safer, Holy Ground. There's a Convent not far from here, St Catherine's".

"Are you INSANE? We can't take her to a Convent! Imagine the questions they'll ask!"

"It's alright. The Mother Superior at St Catherine's is an old friend of mine. She and I had a...thing... before she joined the Order".

"A thing?"

"Yep".

"I don't think I want to know. Alright, let's get moving". Morgan groaned as Martin lifted her up. "It's okay, I've got you" he soothed. However as her head lolled against his arm and her Quickening fluttered again, he doubted that she had heard, let alone understood him. Farrell helped them into the back seat of the car and then got behind the wheel. Driving like the Fury through the city, they acquired several traffic tickets but they were soon at the gate of the Convent. The next step of the procedure was much less efficient. It took Farrell and Penwarden almost five minutes five minutes of urgent insistence before the Sister at the door withdrew and went to fetch the Mother Superior.

"William, dear!" the old woman was clearly delighted to see him. "This is such a surprise, but why on Earth are you calling so late?

"I need help, Sister Ruth" he glanced back and Martin stepped forward a little, clutching Morgan's body almost convulsively in his arms.

The Reverand Mother crossed herself quickly. "Of course, of course... Bring her inside at once. When is the child due?"

"No... it's not like that... there's no baby". William almost spluttered, blushing. "She's hurt; she needs help and we need to hide her"

"On Holy Ground!" Penwarden added.

"On Holy Ground..." the Nun repeated, nodding in understanding. "There's a room upstairs; we'll do our best".

"She's like me... so is Martin. She'll heal, die and revive if needs be, but she needs to be cared for".

Sister Ruth nodded "This way" she directed, ushering them along the hallway and up a flight of stairs. "Angelica!"

A novice darted up to her as though conjured up by magic. "Yes, Reverend Mother?"

"Show these gentlemen to my office and find a room for the young lady. I'll come along in a few minutes".

"Yes, Reverend Mother".

The next thing Morgan was aware of was quiet and warmth. She was in pain but it was not the searing agony she had experienced up until now. She lay upon something soft and comfortable and clean smelling. There was movement close by and a hoarse whisper escaped her lips. Even that slight effort was painful, as though her throat were full of razorblades. "Where am I?"

"Oh, you're awake are you?" It was a woman's voice; elderly and gentle but unfamiliar.

A face swam before her as she opened her dry, sore eyes and she frowned in confusion, briefly wondering if her teacher or his oldest friend had undergone sex reassignment surgery and taken Holy Orders.

"It's alright child, you're safe…" the old nun smiled kindly down at her "I'm Sister Ruth, Reverend Mother of St Catherine's Convent. Your friends brought you here and we're taking care of you.

"Penwarden… Farrell…?"

"Are resting downstairs in the guest quarters. Men aren't allowed upstairs here".

"How... long?"

"You've been unconscious or more almost twenty hours, child. You were badly injured and needed help before you started to heal by yourself. Don't try to move yet, you're still not well. Do you want some water?" Morgan nodded and Sister Ruth brought a cup to her lips; she swallowed with difficulty and the cool liquid quenched the fire in her throat. Her head fell back against the pillow and she blinked dazedly. "There now, take it easy".

Martin looked up from his seat on the sagging old couch in Sister Ruth's private sitting room as she entered and took a seat opposite Farrell at the table. "Well?!" Farrell demanded as he looked at her expectantly.

"She's alright… physically at least… or she will be. She woke up a little while ago but it will be some time before she's fit to travel."

"What about… not physically?"

"Only time will tell on that front, God willing. She's still in shock right now and, as you know William, your healing powers can't touch that".

"She shouldn't be alone when she wakes" he muttered. "She might panic".

"I know. I sat with her through the night. I didn't dare leave it to the infirmary sister in case..." she trailed off, unwilling to voice what she had feared; in case Morgan had died during the night as she healed. "Two of the novices are with her now".

"One of us should be up there. I know you have rules Reverend Mother, but these are special circumstances" offered Martin.

"I'll see what I can do". Sister Ruth poured a cup of tea from the pot on the table as her guests pondered their next move.

Suddenly Farrell looked up and glared at his former student "I still can't believe you let that Fucker escape, Penwarden!" he accused, ignoring or not noticing his elderly friend's shock at his language.

"You know, blaming me isn't going to change anything" the Cornishman retorted gently.

"Yeah, but I feel a hell of a lot better for it!"

Martin sighed and leaned back in his seat. The lamplight fell on his face. Farrell followed the illumination automatically and felt a stab of guilt as he caught a glimpse of the angry red scar that slashed across his former student's face. The edges of the wound had cauterised before healing had begun, the scar was permanent. "He burned you... I thought I imagined that… you've got guts Royalist… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you."

"Believe me Roundhead, he won't be so lucky next time!" The side of Martin's face was tight and even trying to make the flesh move made him shudder with phobic reaction.

Farrell nodded curtly, rose and left the room. His feet thudded on the wooden parquet floor and he was gone.

Early the next morning, Morgan opened her eyes again. This time the pain was gone and her head was clearer. Rubbing her face she pushed herself upright and looked around. The first rays of sunlight were spilling through the gap in the curtains and the gentle warmth on her face was welcome. She touched a hand to her throat and her heart fluttered as she realised the wound was gone. In its' place was a rough scar. A sudden loud snore startled her and she yelped as her head whipped around in that direction, before she sighed in faint relief seeing Farrell asleep in the chair beside the bed. A faint, hazy memory nudged its' way into her consciousness and she saw him with his sweater soaked in blood, his arm limp. Tentatively she reached out to touch the shoulder that had been wounded; it was warm and the muscles firm and whole. A swift hand snaked up and grasped her forearm; not tightly but firmly enough that she couldn't move it. Farrell's eyes flickered open and as he saw whose hand it was he smiled apologetically and gently let go. "Sorry… reflex."

"S'ok"

He leaned forward and folded his hands together, leaning his forearms on his knees "How are you feeling?"

"Better… I think. You… you saved me?"

"Your mentor did the saving. I have to admit, the Royalist has guts. All I did was cut you free."

"Thank you" she murmured as she leaned her head back against the headboard.

"Now, come on. There's a bathroom just through there and Sister Angelica is as I speak running the hot bath I bet you're just desperate to take". He half turned back to her as he opened the door and tipped a parting wink.

Martin Penwarden looked up over the rim of his teacup as his friend entered the kitchen of the Convent. "Well?" he asked.

"She's taking a bath. Says she feels better but I think you're going to have your work cut out for you Martin."

"I thought as much and I've been considering something that I want to run past you".

"Oh?" William sat and poured a cup of tea of his own.

"Morgan is in no state to be left to fend for herself and I can't stay in Canada forever. I was thinking of asking her to come back to England with me… make a fresh start with her life somewhere that Monster won't be able to find her, but whether she'll agree or not..."

"Only one way to find out" Farrell shrugged.

"How the hell do I broach the subject without spooking her?"

"She's an Immortal, Martin! You can't wrap her in cotton wool for the next thousand years!"

"She's also been through hell and back more than once. She needs to be protected until she can protect herself."

The debate was cut short as the kitchen door opened a crack and Sister Ruth ushered Morgan into the room. William got up and pulled a chair out. "Sit down child. You hungry?"

"A little, I think I could use some dry toast."

"Sure that's all you want? No butter or cereal or anything?"

"No thank you" Morgan shook her head, keeping her eyes lowered.

Martin smiled reassuringly and pushed the coffeepot across to her, followed by the sugar and milk. Without looking at him, she poured it and took a long swallow. William half turned and grinned at his friend who tipped him a secretive wink. Morgan was oblivious to this exchange as she nursed the mug between her hands. The vicious scar on her throat peeked out from her collar. She had been marked forever by Ziegler's torture. It had taken both Farrell and Penwarden a good three hours to get the wire out of her throat and in doing so; they had torn away a good deal of flesh.

"Well you need feeding up. You're too damned skinny" William said firmly as he placed a round of buttered toast in front of her.

"I can't" Morgan protested. "There's too much!"

"No such thing as can't. You need to eat, so tuck in and… I'll let you have your coffee back" he neatly swiped the mug out of her reach.

She sighed and picked up the uppermost slice and started to nibble it.

Martin grinned. "Alright Will, be nice. Let her have the black stuff."

"You spoil all my fun" the Parliamentarian grumbled good-naturedly.

For a few minutes, Morgan picked at the toast with Farrell 'confiscating' the coffee pot every time she looked like giving up. Once she was finished he patted her shoulder and poured a fresh cup for her. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it? Well done."

The next couple of days passed with some semblance of routine. Morgan grew physically stronger, but remained relatively insular. Martin regarded her healing with silent satisfaction but he was still troubled by his student's emotional fragility. She had become terribly shy and avoided the Monsignor who ministered to the Nuns and the monks from the nearby Monastery school who visited from time to time.

On the third day, Penwarden had made up his mind. He went out to the garden, where Morgan had taken to spending her waking hours. The Quickening guided him and eventually he found her sitting on the massive stump of an old tree. Before he could announce himself, she lifted her head. "What do you want, Martin?"

"My God! What have I done! I've created a monster!"

"What... does that mean?"

"You used to be such a reclusive little thing. There was a time you wouldn't have dared speak to me so flippantly."

Morgan hesitated as the words died in her throat, then she flushed and seemed visibly to shrink back into herself.

"No… don't" Martin seated himself beside her. "You're getting better. Be proud of it.

Now… tell me how you're feeling. Don't stop to think about it. Just tell me."

"Apprehensive… Guilty." The answer was immediate

"Why?"

"About what's to come… what will happen now? And… your face...; doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out. That Ziegler creature did it didn't he?"

"Your observation skills were never lacking".

Morgan shrugged and scuffed her foot in the dirt.

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know… I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

"Of what's going to happen now… of history repeating itself. If he finds me again…"

"Funny… that's more or less what I wanted to talk to you about".

"What do you mean?"

"Well… to put it bluntly: Have you ever thought of visiting England?"

"Not specifically" her tone became cautious and suspicious. "Why?"

"Okay I'll rephrase. Would you like to start anew? It would do you good"

"I….I don't know."

"You could set up your business afresh on line or I'm sure we could find a premises for you. Leave the past behind and expand."

"But… Europe? I mean… it's so far from everything I know."

"I believe it's for the best. Morgan, the great benefit of Immortality is that we can start again whenever we want to. Besides, you can always come back."

She was quiet for several minutes as she stared thoughtfully at the shrine to St Catherine nearby. "He's still out there isn't he?" she asked

"Would my answer affect your decision?"

"Maybe, maybe not"

"He is still at large but I'd die before I let him harm you again, Morgan. You must trust me on that."

After another moment's silence, she nodded thoughtfully. "Will you help me, make the move I mean?"

"Of course I will."

"I guess I've kinda always wanted to see England".

Martin smiled and squeezed her shoulder. "Just let me know when you're ready and I'll start making arrangements." He was rewarded with one of Morgan's tentative rare smiles.

Farrell was seated by the kitchen window, reading the paper. At least, he was pretending to read the paper. From where he sat he could see the backs of the two generations of younger Immortals. When he saw Martin touch Morgan's shoulder and she did not flinch he was surprised to feel a pang of jealousy. Martin saw himself as a father figure to her but he himself saw her as a younger sister. The problem was that every time he looked at Morgan and saw the wariness in her eyes he was reminded of what put it there and, consequently he was reminded of Miranda. At the same time, something deep inside him argued angrily that it did not wish to be a brother. It protested passionately for something deeper, something more.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

William had been so deep in his reverie that he had not seen Morgan walk up the garden and come back through the kitchen door. "Hey kiddo" he forced his expression to become its usual good natured grin. "How you doing? You ok?"

"I guess… but you changed the subject. How about that Penny?"

"Damn, you're too quick for me, Fair Lady".

A faint flush of pink crept along her cheekbones and William was encouraged by the indication of pleasure. "How are the nightmares?" he asked tentatively. "Are you still getting them?"

The pleasure faded instantly. "I don't... want to talk about it!" she muttered tensely, looking away from him, refusing to let him make eye contact.

Farrell raised his hands. "Take it easy Spitfire" he replied mildly. "I understand".

"No you don't! How could you! How could you possibly understand how I feel!"

"You'd be surprised".

Morgan snorted in derision.

William Farrell lost his temper and rounded on her. "Alright, sit down and shut up!" he snarled. His eyes blazed furiously, burning with emotion and Morgan stumbled back into a chair, shaking slightly as William paced back and forth. The man's taut muscles betrayed the fury pumping through his veins. "I do know what you're going through Angel Morgan Doyle. The pain and grief… I'm telling you something now that I haven't told anyone, not even Martin! I'm telling you that I understand. The Bastard that hurt you hurt me as well. He hurt me when he murdered my wife! I came to Canada to find him. It was pure coincidence that I ran into you and the Royalist. Miranda didn't get a second chance. You have!" His tone became gentle again. "And through you, perhaps now I get mine. You're saving me Morgan... because you continue to live... and you remind me that I can continue too".

She swallowed and licked her lips nervously. "I… I didn't mean to offend you."

"Listen to me kid. I know what you're going through and if you ever feel you can't talk to that overstuffed Peacock then come find me, I have a very broad shoulder and you can cry on it anytime you need, ok?"

"Ok"

"Good. Now, how are you feeling? You look better".

With difficulty, William ignored the black rage that simmered deep in his belly, rage over the cruel blow that life had dealt the woman he now thought of as his little sister. Pushing the feelings back, he focused on Morgan's answer. "The world isn't such a terrible place to be in now and then" he remarked." Why don't you give us another chance?"

Morgan nodded quietly and William smiled again. "You'll be fine, Morgs". He was rewarded by a brief, low chuckle.


	5. Under His Wing

_A Federation Starbase in the late 23rd Century_

_The Starfleet Officer woke with a gasp. His lungs burned with the effort of drawing in all the air that his body demanded. Slowly he rolled into a sitting position, allowing the sheet to fall down about his hips. He leaned forward, sinking his aching head into his hands. The migraines had groan worse over the last few weeks, even as the dreams had become more and more vivid. Gingerly he made his way across to the replicator. "Water, 10 degrees centigrade". The device glowed and hummed, depositing a small drinking glass in the opening. He took it and sipped gratefully as he returned to bed. An almost inaudible skittering came to his ears as he lay down and he half smiled, stretching out an arm so that his hand rested on the floor. Within half a heartbeat, the skittering stopped and an icy creeping feeling preceeded B.O.B's arrival on his collarbone. The Lematya spider chittered softly. The sound was soothing and accompanied her telepathic caress. The disturbing feeling that the vivid dream had left him with began to fade as he drowsed. Soon enough, however, the images came again and not even telepathic interference could stop them._

21st Century

Morgan looked around her nervously as she settled herself into the luxurious leather upholstery of her Business Class seat aboard the Airbus A380. She had rarely travelled beyond her home before, much less in such opulence and she was feeling slightly out of place. Cabin attendants moved back and forth with practised efficiency; helping with seatbelts, stowing luggage and escorting passengers to their seats. Martin glanced up from the seat to her left, on the aisle and touched her hand with gentle reassurance. "Are you alright?" he asked, quietly.

"Yeah" she whispered back as she fussed with the light scarf that covered the scar on her throat. "Just feeling ever so slightly overwhelmed. You didn't have to do this you know."

"I wanted to. Don't worry, just sit back and relax, ok?"

"Ok."

Ten hours later, the aeroplane touched down at London Heathrow. It was the late afternoon of a fine spring day as the passengers disembarked and the mass of people trudged through the bland maze of tunnels and corridors that led from the Gates to passport control and baggage reclaim. Morgan passed through immigration without difficulty and rejoined Martin a few minutes afterwards at the luggage belt. The noise in the enormous room was deafening and the older Immortal kept a careful eye on his nervy student as he selected a trolley on which to transport their cases. Typically, her eyes were flitting this way and that as people crowded close to the baggage belt and Martin saw her tense, distinctly ill at ease at the proximity. Fortunately for the two of them, their luggage was among the first few items and soon, he and his protégé were passing towards customs and the main body of the airport.

"We need to pick up the transit case from the freight desk" Penwarden reminded his student. "There'll be questions, there always are. Try not to worry about it, I'll do the talking".

Morgan nodded. "Sorry but there's no way I was sending that hockey stick as unaccompanied baggage" she murmured as the two of them reached the desk.

"Penwarden, one box" the Immortal man told the clerk on duty, handing over his passport and the stub from the baggage tag.

The officer grunted and made a few clicks with his computer mouse. "It's in back" he answered unenthusiastically. "Needs to go through a Customs inspection before I can let you take it".

"Of course" Penwarden ignored his student's restlessness. This was something he had faced many times before. As an Immortal, you couldn't get twitchy about airport security and customs inspections when you were travelling with live bladed swords. He guided Morgan to a bank of uncomfortable metal seats where they waited for nearly half an hour before a customs official beckoned them in to the examination room.

"We've x-rayed the container Mr Penwarden. Do you have a license for the contents?" he enquired with a severe expression.

"Most certainly. It's an original Civil War Mortuary sword, dating from the mid-seventeeth century" he informed the official with more than a small hint of pride as he produced the keys to the case and an envelope of papers from his coat. "Everything you need is all here. Bill of sale, authentication, import licence... and the papers for the other item".

The official grunted and opened the case. Inside, carefully packed in foam and velvet lay Martin's sword alongside Morgan's precious hockey stick. He let out a breath. "Pretty penny invested in this box. Is there a particular reason for purchasing and importing a sword like this?"

"I collect antique weapons" the Immortal explained patiently. "I have traced the provenance of this particular sword to an ancestor of mine. It belongs in the family, so to speak".

"And... this?" he gestured at the curved length of wood replete with signatures.

"An Ice Hockey stick. The entire Canucks team from last season signed it personally for my friend" Martin grinned.

The customs man grunted again. The two immortals distantly caught the word 'Supervisor' as he leaned out of the door and spoke to someone on the other side of the threshold. Morgan glanced at Penwarden with a raised eyebrow. Martin simply winked and settled himself more comfortably in the unyielding plastic chair. A moment later the official reappeared together with a second man. There were now four people including two strange men in the small room. Morgan's heart raced and she swallowed as the space seemed to grow hotter. The supervisor narrowed his eyes at flushed skin and dilated pupils.

"She's a little claustrophobic" Martin explained quickly. The supervisor nodded in understanding.

"Wait in the other room Adam" he instructed. "Now, let's see what we've got here". The supervisor pulled the case towards him and unfolded the velvet wrap before thoughtfully scratching the tattoo on the inside of his wrist. "All the papers are correct I see... Well I don't think there'll be any problems bringing these items into the country. The sword is obviously an antique". He nodded to Martin as he settled the sword back into its velvet cushioning. It was a knowing nod; the Watcher recognised the Immortal. His file had come through with the passenger records. The woman with him was, as yet unknown to the Organisation. "I reckon this here hockey stick is probably more dangerous... or it was the last time someone played with it?"

Morgan smiled weakly. "They aren't great league leaders"

"Too true" the customs supervisor laughed and resealed the case, before quickly signing and stamping the import papers. "Well that's everything Mr Penwarden."

Martin nodded and accepted the handle of the precious box. Finally it was time to go home. The Watcher was thoughtful as he observed Penwarden usher the young woman out of the room with almost paternal protectiveness. _Finally _he thought. _He's taken another student. Maybe this one will be better suited to him... Maybe he will be better suited to her_. Martin had called ahead and a car was waiting for them. The driver stood among dozens of others at the entrance to the Arrivals Hall, with a sign bearing the legend 'Mr Penwarden'.

By the time they arrived at Martin's home, it was dark and Morgan had slept most of the journey. As the car pulled up in the drive he leaned over and gently shook her awake. "Come on kiddo. We're here".

"As long as 'here' comes in a cup with milk and sugar, it's all good" she mumbled sleepily.

Martin simply chuckled and opened the car door for her while the driver unloaded their bags from the boot of the car and placed them on the porch.

The front door was an unassuming varnished wood with brass knocker, locks and letter box. It was approached by a red tiled step and led into a wide and welcoming front hall. Morgan hesitated just inside the threshold, taking in the staircase ahead of her, just beyond the leftward leading door and other doors to the left and right, further down the hallway as Martin moved around, switching on lights and turning up the thermostat. "You don't have to stand on ceremony here you know. Make yourself at home." He opened a door, flicked a switch and gestured for his student to precede him into the Lounge. He took her coat from her and she sat down, perching on the edge of a firm but comfortable recliner lounge sofa that stretched around the corner of the room, covering almost all of two walls. "One hot chocolate coming up" he said. Morgan nodded her thanks and her eyes relaxed a little. Martin strolled off out of the room whistling to himself. The Immortal woman looked about her, taking in her surroundings curiously.

Penwarden's home was as unassuming as he was; a large detached dwelling in a small village in the English countryside. It sat quite by itself at the end of a cul-de-sac, perfectly private and not overlooked by any of its' neighbours. Light glowed from the gas powered flames in the hearth, scattering orange highlights on a pair of crossed swords hung over the fireplace. Above the crossed swords, a photograph of two small puppies held pride of place overlooking the entire room.

Martin's footsteps tapped on the oak floorboards as he returned, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs upon it. Morgan had begun to relax and now sat straighter as he handed her the fragrant beverage then settled himself on one of the two companion armchairs across from the sofa. A sigh of 'coming home' contentment escaped him as his body relaxed. Morgan took a sip of the sweet liquid in her mug and spluttered. Penwarden simply grinned. "The major problem with 'The New World' is that they have no idea how to make REAL chocolate."

"Nice house" the younger woman offered as she wiped the milk from her mouth and took another, more tentative taste.

"I like to think so… but for the moment it's your home as well… For as long as you need it."

"You're very kind Martin."

He shrugged the compliment off. "Once you've finished your chocolate I'll show you your room and, in the morning, I'll give you the grand tour."

Morgan nodded. "Sounds like a plan" she murmured. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure"

"Is there an alarm system?"

"There's no need to worry Morgan. He doesn't know where you are and you're in no danger. Now… relax. We've had a long journey and you must be exhausted."

She nodded slightly and her eyes wandered back to the crossed swords on the wall.

"I see you've noticed my lucky charms."

"Your what?"

"Seventeenth century Scottish Basket hilt Broadswords. The genuine article".

"Why do you call them your lucky charms?"

"They belonged to a pair of psychotic mortal Scots who were not smart enough to use teamwork to take me down… thus I took them down and took their blades to remind myself that two heads are usually better than one when it comes to solving a problem."

"I… see…" Morgan sounded wary

"Don't worry, they're firmly fastened to the wall. Actually, that reminds me… I have something for you" he stood and beckoned to her to follow him but she froze and became cautious again.

"What sort of… something?" she murmured quietly.

"Morgan, Morgan, Morgan" Martin remonstrated gently. "I promise you that nothing is going to jump out and hurt you in this house. You're as safe here as any place off Holy Ground can be. You do trust me, don't you?"

To his surprise and to hers, she reached out and touched his right cheek; running the tip of her forefinger along the length of the rough scar on his cheek, almost the twin of the one that slashed across her own throat. After a moment's silence she spoke. "I do trust you… with my life."

Martin's heart leapt within his breast and he silently laughed with joy at the healing of the first rift. "Good" he smiled as he clasped her hand and drew her to her feet.

"Now let me give you a gift". Teacher and Student moved through the house and into Martin's study. He pulled the heavy brocade curtains across the window, then lifted a long, narrow case onto the desk and unlocked it, before turning it around to Morgan. "Go ahead, open it" he grinned.

Obediently, Morgan reached out and deftly flipped the catches, then lifted the lid and gasped before carefully lifting out the slightly curved blade from it's bed of moulded velvet. "This is… really for me?" she asked in a hushed tone.

"It's a cavalry sabre of the Light Brigade the 13th Hussars. I wielded that on October 25th 1854… at the Battle of Balaclava." He stopped to let his words sink in.

His student frowned as though remembering something, then spoke:

"Into the mouth of Hell

Rode the six hundred."

"Tennyson" Martin agreed. "It was a disaster… A lot of good men died that day. But you shouldn't believe everything you read. We were never wiped out. Old Tennyson was such an exaggerator. Immortality means survival, no matter what. However, it also means that you outlive your friends and carry a lot of memories with you. That's a good sword, Morgan. Take good care of it and it'll take good care of you."

"I will!" She replied earnestly. "I will, thank you!"

At that moment, somewhere else in the house, a clock struck midnight. Martin came around the desk and opened the door. "Alright young lady" he admonished. "You're late for an appointment with your bed! You've been awake almost thirty six hours."

"Alright, alright" Morgan knew there was no point debating the issue when Martin was in 'father mode'. Besides she was asleep on her feet as she allowed him to lead her upstairs and along the landing to the second bedroom. He opened the door and switched on the light to reveal a large room decorated quite simply, but Morgan found she liked the blank canvas of it all. A light coloured suite of furniture adorned the room. A white sheepskin rug invited her to remove her shoes and run her toes through its' soft pile; she moved forward a little, peering through a door at the pristine white shower suite in the adjoining room and running a finger tip over the blue mosaic tiles around the vanity unit. Martin switched on the brass lamps that stood on either side of the bed and grinned. "Welcome home. I hope you approve".

"It's beautiful" Morgan wandered around the room again, circumnavigating the large space until she came to the foot of the bed where she found herself stroking the smooth waxed wood of the footboard.

"Well, goodnight then. Sleep well" he slipped out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

Morgan picked up the remote control that lay on the bedside table. There was no TV set in the room, but glancing upwards she realised that it controlled the overhead light fitting and fan. Lowering the lights so that only the bedside lamps illuminated the room, she slipped off her shoes and sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing a little to test the mattress. The bed creaked a little and she lay down on it, still fully clothed. A few moments later, the night breeze fluttered the floor length, voile curtains, filling the bedroom with the early spring chill. She yawned as she reached over and closed the window. Five minutes later, she was in bed and fast asleep, curled up like a little mouse..

Martin whistled to himself as he turned the sausages in the merrily sizzling frying pan. "Aha! Thought you could escape me could you?" he murmured, spearing a wayward mushroom and guiding it back to the pack. The Kettle turned itself off and he carefully heated the teapot before adding loose leafed Earl Gray to the infuser and leaving the beverage to brew. Two sharp cracks and a couple of eggs had joined the sausages in the skillet. Upstairs, he heard water running from the direction of Morgan's room. Trusting his instinct that she was awake and getting ready for the day he removed a second mug from the cabinet above his head and methodically spooned coffee and sugar into it. A third Quickening touched his mind and he tensed before a knock on the open door and a jovial "Hello!" announced who it was. William offered his usual cheeky grin. "Morning Sunshine".

"I wasn't expecting you so soon. To what do I owe the displeasure?"

"Charming. Now are you going to invite me in or not?"

Martin pretended to think, then offered an elaborate bow and gestured him to enter. "Since when did you ask for permission?"

"Since there was a young lady in the house." He strolled in and made himself comfortable in the nearest chair before picking up the neatly folded daily paper and opened it. "Hmm….

Doesn't time fly? It's March already."

"March 3rd" Martin agreed.

William did not reply immediately. He stared at the newsprint but did not see the words. "So where's the Ember-Haired Beauty?" He asked at last

"Morgan? I believe she's in the bathroom. I expect she'll be down soon enough. Breakfast?"

"Oh come now Royalist" Farrell sniffed disdainfully. "You know I don't eat that soya fake meat garbage."

"If you're quite finished deriding my lifestyle…"

"I am"

Whatever Martin might have said was cut off as a figure appeared in the doorway from the hall. Morgan's black curls cascaded down her back, unrestricted by clips and pins. Her piercing eyes studied them with quiet intelligence. "You two sound like a pair of old marrieds sometimes" she smiled.

William stood. "Morning kid"

Martin poured boiling water from the kettle into the teapot and coffee cup. "How did you sleep?" he enquired.

"Ok, I think. At least… I didn't dream much. Thanks" she took the steaming mug from him and wrapped her hands around it.

Martin noticed that her nails were neatly manicured and gleaming with black polish that sparkled here and there with glitter, giving them the appearance of a starry sky at the tips of her fingers. "Good, good" he nodded.

At that moment, Farrell moved closer and unbuttoned his coat. "I hope you won't think this too forward of me" he began "but, Happy Birthday". He reached into his jacket and removed a small black bundle of fluff, which he presented proudly to his friend's student.

Morgan looked slightly shocked, then her eyes widened as she took the puppy in her arms. It looked up at her with coal black eyes and yawned, displaying perfect tiny white teeth. A purple ribbon was tied loosely about its' neck. "He's beautiful" she whispered. "How did you find out?" The puppy wagged its' stubby tail and licked her fingers.

William grinned. "I snuck a look at your passport" he confessed. "He's a Russian Black Terrier... He'll love you and protect you from all-comers, no matter what" he promised.

"Thank you. He's gorgeous".

"Well now" Martin chipped in. "A Birthday Girl is entitled to a slap up breakfast. So, sit down and eat up. Then I'll take you into town so you can pick up some supplies for that cute little furball. Any idea what you're going to call him?"

Morgan grinned as she petted the puppy. "Fenris".

"Interesting" He put a plate of scrambled eggs on toasted bagels down on the table in front of her. "Now eat, young lady!"

Putting the dog down gently on the stone tiled kitchen floor, Morgan shot him a mock scowl and picked up a knife and fork. Farrell winked at his friend, who watched with silent approval as his student ate the entire meal. It was not a large plate, but it was enough compared to the mere crumbs that she had eaten up to now. When she had finished, the Cornishman swept away the crockery and placed it in the dishwasher.

"She's come a long way" William commented later once they were alone.

"That she has" Martin agreed. "She has a way to go yet, but she's doing so much better".

"You never did tell me what happened to her."

"William, William… You know I can't violate a confidentiality".

"It was bad, huh?" Part of Farrell wished that he could convince Martin to break his oath, so that he would have another reason to avenge himself upon the murderer who had torn his and Morgan's lives apart.

After a moment's hesitation, Martin nodded just once. "But I can't say anything else".

"You don't need to."

"She's doing so well… When the plane took off the other day I thought I could almost see... It was as if the frightened child was left behind in the terminal... She was nervous and apprehensive, yes but she was – IS looking forward. It's like a fog has lifted from before her eyes and a crushing weight has been taken from her shoulders. I never thought I'd see the day. At one point, very early..." he hesitated and took a sip of tea before smiling slightly at Fenris, who was attempting to chew the ribbon from around his neck.

"At one point, you thought you might be faced with... taking her head... putting her 'out of her misery'. Lord God, that's such a vile expression!"

"I could not have put it quite so... succinctly. And in all honesty, I do not think I could have done it had it come to that. It would have been little more than cold blooded murder though we tell ourselves it is Euthanasia... in the newborn's best interest".

"It is not" Farrell agreed firmly with a vigorous shake of his head. "In all my time on this Earth I have only heard of one maybe two incidents where it was truly unavoidable". The older man's expression darkened as he remembered. "Morgan is not incapable of understanding or communication. She just seems to want to be left alone".

Martin shook his head in disagreement. "It would be a bad idea. If she internalises the circumstances... Well, Freud said that 'Anger turned inwards is depression'. Human companionship is what she needs for the moment, whether she wants it or not. A pet will only take her so far, although I will admit that she seemed to appreciate your gesture".

"I think she's one of those who get on better with animals". _Work with Penwarden. Help her until she's prepared to help you. _This was an idea. Farrell put it aside for later consideration.

"Most definitely. And, it's well known that animals provide the most effective therapy to the traumatised. Morgan never struck me as the City type. She probably grew up in the middle of nowhere and, I think that's where she's happiest".

"With independence and no sign of civilization or another person who wasn't stoned for miles around".

The raindrops of a late spring shower pattered heavily on the windows as Farrell glared at the computer thoughtfully. It had been a while since he'd tried what he was about to do. He had little use for the machines but, he admitted, that they did prove handy now and then. He connected to the Internet and stared out at the lowering grey clouds as he considered his options. Three things he knew for certain: Morgan was Canadian; she had been murdered by an Immortal named Ziegler; almost certainly the same Immortal who had murdered Miranda, whom he had pursued across two continents only to lose on the Pacific coast of Canada. The two killings bore such similarities... He had to find the connection and right now he wasn't too fussed about Morgan's privacy, or Penwarden's precious oath of patient confidentiality. William's fingers danced on the keyboard and before he knew it, he had access to the Canadian police server. He worked quickly, searching for and downloading the information he wanted, knowing it was too dangerous and would take too long to read it online.

There were photographs; William ignored them. He wanted information, but he had no interest in voyeurism. The police reports would be sufficient so he turned to them. A call had come from concerned locals the first time that a 'church' mob had surrounded the entrance of the young woman's store. It had been logged and put aside as routine as had a number of subsequent complaints about crowds in the street and harassment of customers. It was not until late one evening when a patrol was alerted by a member of the public to the relentless screaming of an alarm that someone went to check, only to find that they were too late to be of help. The store had been wrecked and the owner was dead by multiple gunshot wounds.

Farrell sighed in frustration. He was no closer to the answer than he had been to begin with. There was just one more small report. The woman's body had later disappeared from the coroner's van. To date it had not been found. The case had gone cold. The Immortal punched the wood of the table upon which the computer sat. He could guess about what had happened to the body, which meant only Morgan could help him now. The need for vengeance burned within him even more intensely. It overrode his common sense and even his sense of decency, all of which were railing against what he planned to do now.


	6. And So It Begins

William's gift to Morgan grew like a weed as his breed was inclined to do. By the time he was taken to the vets for his final injection in the series of puppy vaccinations, Morgan could barely lift him onto the exam table. Penwarden was forced to help her whilst his own dogs created chaos in a pen in the waiting area. Fenris showed his gratitude at the attention as only a large ungainly canine can. He licked Martin's face thoroughly, even succeeding in shoving his icy black nose into the Immortal man's mouth in his exuberance. Morgan sniggered as her mentor drew out a handkerchief and wiped his face with affected dignity.

"Angel Morgan Doyle" he scolded. "That was not in the least bit amusing".

"Yes it was!" she chuckled. "Hey! Don't you full name me!"

Fortunately further conflict was averted by Fenris struggling to jump down to floor level now that the vet was finished in his ministrations. Morgan was forced to let go of the huge puppy's leash in order to prevent injury to herself or the dog.

"Clean bill of health" the vet announced. "You can walk him off your property now if you wish. We'll see you in a year for his booster shots. Remember if you have any problems..."

"The surgery number is on speed dial" Morgan promised.

About half an hour later saw the two Immortals walking easily towards home. Delighted to be off the lead for the first time, Fenris leapt and bounded, chasing and being chased with Martin's two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, only a fraction of his size. Gradually the path turned down towards the canal cutting and the gleaming water came into view. Almost like a painting, the visible area was framed by a red brick arched bridge on one side and a lock gate on the other. Their current route would lead them across the bridge and down onto the tow path. However before they had come within ten metres of the bridge, Penwarden stopped dead and whistled the spaniels to him. "I think the other way is quicker" he muttered.

"Is it that late?"

"I… uhm… it's getting on for time" he replied quickly. "We should take the short route home, back across the fields".

"I didn't think it was that much shorter".

"Trust me, it is".

"Martin?" Morgan was concerned at this abrupt change in behaviour and it showed, deep in her eyes. "Martin, are you alright? You've gone very pale."

"I'm just fine. Come on, let's go home" he tried to turn away from the bridge but Morgan caught his sleeve, abruptly stopping him.

"It's something to do with the canal isn't it? You just don't want to go down the towpath. What are you afraid of?"

Martin flexed his jaw wordlessly for several long moments, looked down then swallowed and looked back up at Morgan. "I'm… rather… I'm…. afraid of water" he confessed.

"I see" Morgan frowned slightly, not quite sure what to say. Until this moment she had not regarded either Martin or William as being capable of having fears.

"It's nothing new, Morgan. There's no reason for you to worry. It's not a problem." She merely nodded and Martin smiled at her. "Come on then" he said. Let's get home, I could use a shower.

"Yeah, you do kinda stink".

"Why, you impudent brat!" he laughed.

As they reached home and managed to convince the dogs to sit and stay neatly while the door was unlocked, neither of them noticed the banged-up old car that slowed to a crawl as it passed the house. Martin quickly cleaned himself up and hurried out to his surgery moments before the first of his patients arrived while Morgan headed into the brick built shed that Martin had allowed her to turn into a workshop. Fenris curled up on his quilt, chewing happily on a bone. For the rest of the afternoon everything seemed peaceful.

The next day, Martin was still hard at work with his private clinics. Some of his patients had not been overly impressed at his extended absence. The Counsellor had been run off his feet by those who had made double, or even triple appointments to make up for (their) lost time. When William knocked on the front door, it was Morgan who answered.

"So…" he grinned. (It was difficult to conceal how the thirst for vengeance was wearing him down). "It's a fine day, it's not raining for once and the Royalist's garden is like a jungle. Feel like exercising your sword arm?"

Morgan chuckled slightly. "Well if that's your idea of an invitation, then I accept". Her lips parted in an amused half smile, revealing dazzling white teeth. She allowed William to enter and he waited on the back step while she returned with her sword. The two Immortals made their way outside. William wasn't kidding, the garden was, to say the least, unkempt apart from the well trodden down path between the house and the workshop shed.

The dual began in a light-hearted manner, as an elaborate but gentle dance of swordplay and technique. Neither combatant was particularly breaking a sweat over it. About ten minutes had passed before a deep shadow seemed to come over Farrell's face. His eyes became hard and cold, his attacks became stronger and more focused.

Morgan was finding herself hard pressed to block and soon she was being forced to retreat. "If I didn't know any better" she gasped, breathlessly. "I'd think you were really trying to kill me".

William did not reply. The violence unleashed inside him was out of control. Using the pommel of his sword, he smashed the back of her wrist, shattering bones and breaking her grip on her own weapon. With a snarl, he shoved her against the brick wall of the tool shed workshop, pressing the edge of his sword against the smooth, white skin of her neck.

Morgan's mouth was bone dry but she didn't dare swallow, lest the motion lead to the blade slipping.

The manic, burning light in William's eyes brightened "What the hell has that fucking Royalist done to you?" he spat. "You're pathetic. You won't last five minutes fighting like that! Get a grip woman! Do you have any goddamn idea how easy it would be for me to kill you right now, without hardly flexing a single muscle?"

"Do it then!" Morgan answered softly, meeting his flaming stare. "Quit pissing about and take my head if you intend to! Get it over with... DO IT!"

Giving her one final glare, William lowered his blade, turned and stalked off leaving Morgan alone. He did not turn back to see her wrap her diaphanous scarf back around her scarred throat with trembling hands.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Farrell?" she yelled at his departing back. He did not respond and gradually his Presence faded from her mind. However it was a good half hour before she dared venture back into the house. Fenris slunk up to her and pressed reassuringly against her legs. Almost instinctively Morgan's hand slipped through his thick silky fur, stroking him and taking solace in the animal's unquestioning devotion.

His clinic was all but ended for the morning when Penwarden's receptionist knocked on his office door. "Your twelve thirty is here Martin" she announced.

Penwarden glanced at his filofax. "Janice, I don't have a twelve thirty booked".

"There was a cancellation, I squeezed him in. I'm sorry I must have forgotten to put it in your diary."

"Alright, send them in".

Janice nodded and left the room. A minute later, the door opened again and heavy footsteps crossed to the area in front of Martin. The warning Presence of another Immortal jolted down his spine. When he looked up, he was not expecting the person who stood there. "Farrell, not now I'm busy".

"I know"

"I have a patient due any second"

"And I'm here".

Martin looked up again and his eyes narrowed sharply. "That's not funny" he growled.

"I'm not joking. Seriously Martin, I'm as sincere as ever I've been. I need your help; I need your professional help".

"I see. You'd better take a seat" he gestured to the armchair opposite his own and turned to a fresh patient notes document. "Right, now what can I do for you?"

"Oh God Martin… I think I'm going insane!" William's voice was wavering, then it cracked completely. Penwarden was shocked to see tears run down his mentor's face. "I almost killed her!"

"I thought we already talked about this. You can't blame yourself for something that happened when you weren't there. It was a situation beyond your control."

"Not that!" He paused for a split second. "Morgan"

Martin sat bolt upright and his eyebrows shot to the top of his head. When he next spoke, it was after several long seconds that a perfectly calm voice that left his throat. "William, what have you done?"

"She and I sparred… then it started again".

"What started?"

"The rage… I feel so angry, I want revenge… I want to kill. I was seconds from taking her head!"

"What stopped you?" Martin's voice was quiet, soft and gentle… even coaxing.

"She did. Would you believe it? She stood there, stared straight into my eyes and dared me to kill her! I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it. That timid little mouse of a girl… we must have done something right."

"How long have you felt like this?"

"It started just after Miranda... died… I think."

"Would you like to expand on that?"

"I can't be sure… It could have been before, I… I… at least, that's when I first remember it distinctly.

"And before then?"

"At first I thought I was imagining it. My feelings are turning into urges so strong that I can't resist! And Morgan almost paid with her life" Farrell stopped speaking and began, to Martin's surprise, to cry in earnest, huge gulping, gut wrenching sobs."

"What do you think has triggered this?"

"I don't know! God I don't know! You have to help me, Penwarden!".

"And I will" the Counsellor confirmed.

"So… why now?" the older man snuffled, plucking a handful of tissues from the box on the table and wiping his face.

"We all have a natural inbuilt ability to protect ourselves from the violence in our lives."

"So you did pay attention in between all your preening and praying" William smiled weakly.

"Now that sounds like the old Farrell". Martin managed to return the smile. "Going against everything I've been taught about the need for the patient to discover their problems and come up with their own solutions, but in your case I'll make an exception. I think the immense emotional stress of your wife's death, compounded with the negativity of the emotion of revenge has somehow fused your mental circuit breaker."

"You mean I'm going to be like this forever?" William's voice was very small.

"I don't know. It may settle down or it may persist until you become more emotionally aligned."

"Meaning?"

"Until your thirst for revenge is quashed."

"Oh".

Martin rapped on the door of Morgan's workshop with the knuckles of his left hand. As soon as the woman's voice from within the room sounded, he turned the handle and entered. There was no preamble, he paused only to inhale. "Did he hurt you?" he demanded.

Morgan was silent for a moment. Deftly she twisted a length of silver wire into an elaborate spiral with a pair of pliers before she looked up at her Mentor, then glanced away. "No" she replied softly. "Not really". Despite herself, her hand wandered to her throat before she clenched her fist and picked up another tool.

Martin half nodded to himself and sat down in the chair, in the corner beside the work table. "He thinks you'll never trust him again".

"Trust him?" Morgan was incredulous. "He's totally lost it! He tried to kill me Goddammit!"

"I didn't know you studied psychiatry". Martin scowled.

"Does he know you're telling me?"

Martin covered his hurt. "Yes. I would never betray a confidentiality. In fact, he asked me to speak to you. He didn't want to frighten you in case you didn't want to see him".

"He's right there!"

"Morgan, as Immortals we have a kind of… inbuilt genetic ability to block the intensity of our violent lives, from our waking minds. Look at it like a wall if you will. Farrell's has begun to break down. He is almost two thousand years old. Make the calculation. That's a lot of dark thoughts kicking around".His student did not reply verbally, but a shiver passed through her. He heard the soft clatter of metal on metal as her hands trembled with tools gripped between her fingers. Hoping that he was not imagining the softening of her eyes, the older Immortal decided to press on. "He didn't know what he was doing" Martin explained. "He would never deliberately hurt you. Far from it, he would die defending you!"

Morgan slowly nodded in understanding as Martin stood and went to the door. He opened it and gestured to Farrell, who stood in the knee length grass, looking the absolute picture of abject misery. Martin nodded and held the door open for the older man to slink into the workshop. William could not look Morgan in the eyes. She was his best friend's student. He himself thought of her as a sister, or a granddaughter, a member of his close family; yet he had been moments from murdering her. The shame was overwhelming. Weeping openly, William fell to his knees at Morgan's feet.

Morgan inched tentantively back from him, glancing rapidly from William to Martin and back again.

"Child, I'm so sorry! I won't beg for your forgiveness, I don't expect you to trust me again after what I did to you. I daren't even come near you without Martin present!" his voice trailed off into deep wracking sobs.

"I... I... I need to..." fleet as a startled Doe, she dodged around Farrell and darted through the gap between Penwarden and the door. As Morgan fled across the lawn, Martin turned in surprise. "Morgan!" he yelled. "Morgan please. You have to talk to him!"

"Let her go..." his friend sighed. "It'll do no good forcing her..." Farrell wavered for a moment and then collapsed to the floor as his body shook with the power of his emotions. He wailed and wept like a child. Groaning inwardly, Martin closed his eyes and took a moment to rest his head upon the door frame in exhaustion. Distantly both men heard the front door slam, footsteps receded on the driveway and Morgan's Quickening faded from their awarenesses.

The town only had a very small ice rink, but it boasted a fairly skilled rec team. As a Canadian, Morgan was ineligible to join. It would have been considered an unfair advantage akin to bringing in a ringer. However since she had entered foster care after leaving the commune, the rink was where she had always gone to vent her frustrations and be alone. She paid well to have the ice to herself for an hour or two and, unwilling to lose this lucrative source of income, the manager maintained discretion about the occaisional wet paw prints. Besides, it wasn't like the big black dog was bothering anyone as it followed the pucks from its position halfway up the spectator stands.

There were a lot of pucks today. As many so many at her peak that one blurred into the next as Morgan slammed them into the empty goal net. Most of the shots would have been enough to rock the frame off its foundations were it not firmly screwed into the ice. By the time the hour was up, she was exhausted and refreshed. The solid rubber discs had taken some serious damage and were now only good as dog chews. The others she slipped into her skate bag before balancing her hockey stick over one shoulder in a nonchalant hobo style. With Fenris at her heels carrying one of the damaged pucks, Morgan set out for home. The session felt good, she reflected. The fear and tension were much lessened. This time, she felt... capable of hearing Farrell out...

As Paul Van Art left the Rose and Crown public house, a sneer crossed his face. He had been thirsting for an easy Quickening for weeks and thanks to that idiot David Shaunessy, he was about to find one. The old man was all that passed for a village gossip around here. He had driven past the shrink's house the other day and couldn't wait to gleefully report that there was a woman living with the strange young man. Van Art had been barely able to repress the urge to crow victoriously. Penwarden, the Royalist had a new student... Van Art was very good with students. They were his speciality in fact.

Martin and William sat on the front step of Martin's house. The younger Immortal's two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels chase each other back and forth across the lawn.

"Those rats on ropes" grumbled William. "I swear you keep them just to taunt me!" It had taken him almost two hours to regain emotional control and even now his eyes were still bloodshot, his face still blotchy.

Martin chuckled. "My sole aim in life is to annoy you, Roundhead. I would have thought that you would have figured that out by now!"

"Actually I had noticed. Where is Morgan? Did you find her?"

"She sent me a text a minute or two ago. She's on her way home"

The question of where and why the younger immortal had fled remained unspoken but not entirely answered. "She'll be ok, she has Fenris with her"

Morgan was enjoying the warm spring sunshine and the breeze that fluttered her jet black hair over her shoulders as she walked along the woodland bridle path. She could have taken the bus from the town, but she preferred the exercise. Fenris was getting too big to seat comfortably anywhere but the wheelchair space or the priority seats and Morgan hated taking them up when there were so many other passengers that needed them. She was expecting Farrell and Penwarden to have come looking for her by now, so when she felt a distant buzz, she was alert but not overly concerned. It was not until the Presence drew closer that she realised it was unfamiliar. She stopped; her stance loose and relaxed but ready to fight if necessary. Ahead of her, bushes rustled in a clearing and a strange man stepped onto the track.

"My name is Paul Van Art. And we will fight!" he demanded.

_He sounds South African_ thought Morgan. "Any polite person would say 'Please'"

"Draw your sword, Woman. Or I will slay you where you stand!"

It was only at this moment that Morgan realised with a sinking fear that she was unarmed. Not that Van Art seemed to care and Morgan knew she had to think fast if she were to escape with her life.

The Double-edged broadsword came forward in the right hand of its' wielder. As it drew level, he supported it with his other hand, putting force behind the aggressive attack. The blow was like a punch and Doyle threw herself to the ground, rolling fast to get away as the Templar sword embedded itself deep into the trunk of a tree. With a snarl of annoyance, Van Art tugged his blade free and turned to continue the attack. There was a flash of light close to his face and he jerked his head away from it. The razor sharp skate blade sank deep into the attacking immortal's collar bone. Just as Morgan had hoped it severed tendons and bit through nerves and sinew. Van Art's temple veins bulged as he fought to keep a grip on his weapon. Nevertheless, he laughed as Morgan scrambled for a weapon, any weapon. "Submit, woman... I'll make it swif...argh!" The sentence ended in a screaming howl of agony. Fenris, determined to protect his human had sunk his jaws into her attacker's most sensitive anatomy. "Good dog!" Morgan panted. A succession of blows with the pommel end of her hockey stick to her enemy's face and sword arm were enough to disarm him and drive him to the ground. Biting her lip, the younger woman prayed the blade of the stick was as sharp as old wives tales gave credit before she swung with all her strength.

William stopped dead and looked up in alarm. "What in the hell!?"

"Oh no… a Quickening!" Martin drew his blade and charged ahead as William followed two paces behind. Both of them feared the worst and both were as one in their intention to kill whoever had taken Morgan's head. They reached the clearing just as the pyrotechnic display ended and the victor fell to the ground. Farrell let out a yelp of delight as he pointed at the body. The corpse was male. Suddenly, the sound of feminine giggling rang through the air.

The two Immortals moved forwards to where Morgan leaned on Fenris, who sat almost serenely in the midst of the Quickening debris. She was laughing fit to bust and grinned almost drunkenly at Martin as he knelt beside her.

"What the FUCK was that?" she gasped between giggles.

A faint, fatherly smile touched Martin's lips. "That, my dear, was the Quickening. Can you stand?"

"Oh yeah….. I think I could even fly!"

William looked on as Martin helped his student to her feet and he couldn't help the broad grin that spread across his face. He vaguely remembered Martin's first Quickening that had affected him the same way and then he sobered as he remembered the crushing low that would inevitably follow the euphoria. "Martin" he spoke softly. "We should get her home"

Martin nodded as he helped Morgan stumbled back onto the bridlepath. "Come on kiddo". He said. "You okay to walk?"

Morgan nodded breathlessly and Martin loosed his arm from around her shoulders. "His name was…. Van Art" she said. "Paul Van Art"

"You did well" replied William. "Keep that up and you'll live a long, long time."

"William... I..."

Farrell hesitated and looked at his friend's student.

Morgan leaned close to him and spoke softly. "I forgive you. I want to help you"

Confusion crossed the man's face "But… after… what I did to you…"

"It's what friends are for… We're Immortal; the friendships we make can last a very long time".

Martin raised an eyebrow. He had not expected Morgan to have such a profound point of view at her age.

William nodded weakly. "Thank you…"

Morgan gave him a reassuring smile and squeezed his hand gently.

It did not take the group long to reach Penwarden's home. Morgan immediately fell asleep on the couch, with Fenris sprawled on the mat at her side.

"Well she's taken the first step" William commented as he helped himself to a soft drink from Martin's refrigerator.

"Indeed" Martin agreed. "Sometimes, even I have trouble connecting her with that timid recluse we met in Vancouver."

"Quite. Although, I have been thinking."

"About Morgan?"

"Yes. Not long ago you pointed out that she's happiest when she's independent and alone, with no one around for miles. Well, gracious as I'm sure your hospitality is, she won't want to live with you forever."

"Yes, that had already occurred to me. Did you have something in mind?"

William reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a glossy pamphlet, which he handed to Martin.

Martin stirred the bubbling saucepan of Bolognese and kept one ear open for any stirrings from upstairs. Fenris had been most disgusted at being dislodged from his comfortable rug and his defensive spot, but even his whining had not stirred Morgan from her sound sleep as Martin had carried her to her bed. As he was draining the Spaghetti, there was a creak on the stairs. Morgan's Quickening felt stronger, though when she appeared in the kitchen doorway, her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed with tears. The younger Immortal had come crashing down off the euphoric high that the transfer of energy had produced.

"How are you feeling?" Martin asked quietly as he rinsed the pasta under a kettle full of hot water.

"Kinda… wiped, I guess. It really happened didn't it? I killed that man…" she sounded so lost and disconsolate that Martin had to fight the urge to hug her tightly as he might a daughter.

"You defended yourself. Don't dwell on it" he placed a full plate down on the table. "Here, sit down and eat. You must be hungry".

"Thank you" she settled herself obediently at the table and waited until Martin was seated before picking up her fork and twirling it in the spaghetti.

"I thought we might go for a ride in the morning?" suggested the older Immortal. "I'll show you a little more of the area if you like."

"Yeah… that sounds nice. But I thought you had patients tomorrow?"

"The first appointment isn't until eleven, so there's plenty of time to go out beforehand. So what do you say?"

"Ok" Morgan half smiled.

"Good. Now eat up before the chef takes offence" Martin winked.


	7. The Darkness Within

The days passed with some semblance of routine. Morgan and Fenris were inseparable. Following her encounter with Van Art, Morgan never failed to carry her blade again and threw herself into her training with renewed fervor. Either she was working or she was exercising or working out. In a way her mentor was sorry to see it. The first Quickening was, in a way, the real beginning of an Immortal's new life. However, it was also the death of their former self and their innocence alongside their foe.

Martin scowled over the latest pile of NHS paperwork. Not for the millionth time he resented the local Primary Care Trust and it's fixation with forms. Glancing at his watch he noticed it was almost 8PM and he realised that it was time he was getting home. He yawned and locked his work up in the drawer of his desk, briefly wondering if his student would be about when he got back. He had not seen her in two or three days as he had been working such long hours in an effort to catch up with his duties. One by one the lights flickered off and he locked the outer door before stepping into the street and heading towards the car park. The Immortal had not gone twenty feet before he heard the unmistakeable sound of a fight. At the same time, he caught sight of a large crowd on the opposite pavement and almost immediately after, felt the raw power of a very angry Quickening.

An elderly man hurried across the road, sensing in Martin perhaps someone who could help. "Mr Penwarden!" he gasped breathlessly. "There's a woman over there… I think she's not quite right" he tapped the side of his temple.

Martin nodded wordlessly but when the man turned to go he rolled his eyes. He hated the term 'not right in the head'; it was demeaning and indicated a total lack of understanding the human mind. He followed the man back to the crowd. He pushed his way to the front and stopped dead, staring in horror at the vision of wild fury in front of him. Morgan's black hair was tangled and matted, her body taut like a coiled snake as she crouched over a huge muscular man, curled on the floor and trying desperately to shield himself, with very limited success as the comparatively delicate woman proceeded to beat him to a bloody pulp; and, judging by the amount of blood on the pavement, she wasn't holding anything back. "Morgan!" The older Immortal's voice was sharp and clear. It would brook no disobedience.

Morgan turned, slowly rising from her crouching position to her full height. Martin was shocked by the fury that contorted her face and the murderous violence that filled her eyes. With a blood-curdling roar she leapt at him, her hands extended out like claws that tore into his flesh and raked his face. He ducked the first blows and grabbed her wrists. "Morgan! Calm down!" His student struggled with a violence that he had not known her capable of. With difficulty he held her immobile and scanned the crowd for someone who could help him.

Doctor Ashcroft pushed her way through the gawking onlookers. "Hold her still" she said. "I've got a sedative here!" She drew out a syringe and, as Martin straightened and pinned his Student's arm, Ashcroft injected the drug.

Morgan howled her outrage and head-butted the unfortunate doctor. She reeled back clutching her bleeding nose. However, the young Immortal showed no signs of passing out and a cold fear swarmed in the pit of Martin's stomach as he faced the horrifying realisation that she could only have taken a Dark Quickening. "Forgive me Child" he murmured (more to himself than to her) and hurled her struggling body head-first into the nearest brick wall. The momentum drove her head hard into the stonework. A second later, her eyes rolled and she sagged into his arms, unconscious. Just then, a police car came flying around the corner and screamed to a stop. The local bobby got out of the drivers seat as Morgan's victim staggered to his feet. After a brief conversation, the big man shook his head vehemently and slunk away from the scene with his tail between his legs. His friends would never let him live down if they found out that he had been beaten up by a woman. Meanwhile, Martin carried his unconscious student back to his car. He laid her in the back seat and swiftly bound her hands and feet with the tow rope he carried in the boot. He regretted doing it, but he could not risk her waking and going berserk. Fortunately for him, she did not and soon he had her locked in her bedroom.

Farrell stretched and took a long swig from his bottle of Coca Cola before picking up the remote control and hopping through the channels. The phone shrilled close to his ear, startling him. He picked it up and cradled it on his right shoulder. "Farrell".

"William, get over here. I need your help."

He sat up straighter. "What kind of help, Martin?"

"I'd rather not say over the phone. Just get here as quick as you can… it's about Morgan"

William's heart sank. "I'll be right there" he promised.

The rain beat down and plastered Farrell's hair to his head as he trudged up his friend's front path and pressed the doorbell. When Penwarden answered, William was almost shocked at the younger man's dishevelled appearance. There was no 'almost' about it when he saw the angry red scratches on Martin's face and the spectacular black eye. "Christ all-mighty!" he exclaimed.

"Why thank you" Martin muttered as he waved him in and gingerly applied a pack of frozen peas to his face.

"What in hell happened?"

Before Martin could answer, there came a loud thud from upstairs. It was followed by further thuds and other sounds of commotion.

"PMS?"

"She's taken a Dark Quickening"

"I'm not sure which one's worse."

Penwarden sighed and flopped into a chair as his wounds began to heal. "I need your help William. I've never seen this before and I have no idea where to even begin".

"You look like shit, Royalist" William commented drily.

"Flattery will get you everywhere. Now… can you help me or not?"

Farrell's voice dropped an octave as he became serious. "I don't know, Martin. But I'm going to damn well try. Now, where is she?"

"Locked in her room. I'm telling you William, she's out of control. It's turned her into a wild animal!"

Farrell pondered for a moment. "You can't get through to her?" he asked.

"I'm not sure she even recognises me"

"She does… She just doesn't care."

"Wonderful" Martin muttered with a heavy sigh.

"Well… I'd better get up there then… See what I can do, huh? But I'm going to need you too Martin. This is going to take both of us. If you can take another female induced black eye that is" William grinned but his friend did not return it. Wordlessly Martin drew a key from his pocket and handed it over to his friend. "Right. Come on."

The key turned softly and easily in the lock and the door swung inwards with a gentle creak. The room beyond was dim and deathly silent. The two Immortals glanced at one another, then William pushed the door fully open and stepped inside. A hunched figure hunkered on the floor at the foot of the bed, head bowed. Martin had bound Morgan's hands behind her to the bedpost so that she could not escape from her makeshift prison. Farrell moved closer and crouched down to her level. Penwarden remained sentry-like by the door.

"Morgan?" William spoke softly and inclined his head close to look into her eyes. They were smouldering orbs of hate and rage. They did not look human, they looked more like they should belong to a demon. "Morgan, can you hear me?"

Slowly she lifted her head and stared straight into his eyes as if she were burning a path to the back of his head. A sneer contorted her face. "You want me baby?" she purred, flicking her tongue across her lips. "You can't handle me… betcha can't get your little Immortal dick up to the challenge, hmmm?"

"This isn't who you are, kid" Farrell ignored the lewd suggestion. "This isn't the Morgan I know."

"Too bad… this is who I am now… and I like it. C'mon, untie me and you'll like it too!"

"No can do."

Morgan let out a bestial roar and lunged towards him. However, she could not get any closer than arm's length as the ropes pulled tight around her wrists. Snarling, she bared her teeth and struggled to get free. "Coward!" she screeched. Rolling to her side, she lashed out with her right leg and caught the unfortunate William square in the crotch before kicking at his knees and shins, as she tried to bring him to the floor. Farrell staggered back so that he was out of range. "You can't keep me here forever, you pathetic worms! I'm going to tear your heads off with my bare hands and then bathe in your blood!"

"Morgan, it isn't us that you are angry with" reasoned William.

"You'll do in the meantime!" The maddened woman struggled and the rope started to splinter from the friction against the wood of the bedpost.

"Listen to me! Listen to yourself! It's a Dark Quickening in control of your mind. Do you understand?"

"Who gives a flying fuck! I'm strong! It feels good! No one can hurt me now! I'm invulnerable!" Her grin was near manic and absolutely wild. There was a splintering snap as her bonds broke and she flew forward with a bone chilling screech and barrelled Farrell to the ground. He struggled to fight her off as she sank her teeth into his throat and her clawlike nails tore at his eyes. Martin shook himself out of his shock and plunged into the fray. He twinned a fist into his student's once luxuriant mane and yanked her head back hard before slamming her into the nearest wall. It took three blows this time before she fell. Martin let her drop and turned to his friend. William was clutching his throat as he tentatively sat up. "Shit, you weren't kidding!" he swore.

"So what's your plan?"

"My plan? Charming. Well… clearly just tying her up isn't going to hold her and keeping her unconscious will only compound the problem. So… restrain her as well as you can, dope her with horse tranquilisers if you have to and I'll be back in fifteen minutes."

"Wait, where are you going?"

"I'll be right back… on my honour"

Martin sighed as William left and picked up Morgan's limp body. Blood was congealing on her face and she was already beginning to stir. He laid her down on the bed and used a strip torn from a sheet to bind her hands. Knowing it wouldn't hold for long her hurtled down the stairs at breakneck speed and bolted outside to the tackroom, where the horse medications were kept. He scanned the shelves anxiously and then grabbed the bottle and a clean syringe. Back upstairs, Morgan was almost fully conscious and starting to struggle furiously. When she saw Martin, she let out a roar of anger and a tirade of the foulest language he had ever heard. Ignoring the insults and the threats, he knelt on her arm, pinning it flat and pushed the syringe into the vein. Morgan bared her teeth and snarled in fury. "You'll thank me for it later" he murmured as he withdrew the needle. Her eyes began to cloud and a few seconds later she was deeply asleep. Martin sat back and wiped his face. He was about to check his watch when he heard William's footsteps on the stairs.

When the older man's impish face appeared around the door, Martin glanced up. "She's out for the count" he said. "But I can't tell you how long for, so whatever plan you've got, you'd better put it into action fast".

William winked and drew something from his pocket. Martin felt his jaw go slack. "You've got to be kidding me! Where the hell did you get those?"

"I have my sources. They're the real McCoy, so don't worry they'll hold her"

"Sometimes I have to wonder about you"

"Wonder away" Farrell locked the manacles tight around Morgan's wrists and connected them to the bedposts. Finally he sat back and pulled his blood stained collar away from his neck with a grimace of distaste. "Damn where the hell did that come from?"

"Her second Quickening and it's Dark. How the hell can anyone be so unlucky?"

"These things happen. If her opponent was under its' influence she was lucky to win at all. When she comes through it she'll be stronger than ever."

"How many times have you encountered a Dark Quickening?"

"In my whole life?"

"Yep"

"Twice".

Penwarden frowned. "Twice?"

"That's what I said. This one and the other one."

Martin felt an almost irresistible urge to bang his head against the desk. "Well that makes you the expert in this house. What do we do now?"

William stripped his ruined shirt off. "First, I get cleaned up" he replied as he headed out of the room.

Martin shook his head and, after checking that Morgan wouldn't be able to free herself, he left the room silently and locked the door.

_She stood in the centre of a brilliant circle of white light. It was blinding and she was forced to squint so as not to burn her eyes. Beyond the illumination it was pitch black, however she knew she was not alone. A thousand pairs of eyes focused on her yet she could not see any of them. When she tried to leave the circle of light, she was thrown back by an invisible barrier. Something a science fiction writer would have termed a Force Field. "Who are you?!" she yelled. By the echo, she judged that the chamber was immense. It was only the echo that answered her. The unseen eyes remained mute and faceless. "Where am I?!" Again there was no response and she turned around in a circle, a tight ball of fear growing in her belly. "Answer me!"_

"_We are you. You are us". The voice was an almost malevolent hiss coming from the darkness._

"_I don't understand!"_

"_Understanding is not necessary. Only being."_

"_What do you mean? Where am I?"_

_The voices were silent._

"_Please!" her voice cracked in fear. "Where am I? How did I get here?"_

"_You were always here"._

"_We've been waiting for you"_

"_Who are you!"_

"_We are your Quickening. We are your strength."_

"_Why am I here?"_

"_Because you choose to be"_

"_But where…"_

"_We can show you how to use your power. We can make you stronger, quicker, smarter."_

"_You can feel our strength. Accept it. Let it flow into you, feeding your heart and mind."_

_Bewildered, Morgan tried to peer through the light and then gasped as an immense red fury rushed into her. She let out a roar that could have shook heaven itself. Anger raged through her mind and she screamed her primal energy to the watchers. It seemed to her that it was met with approval and she screamed again and again. It felt good. More than that, it was intoxicating, even stronger than the energy of the Quickening was the energy running through her now._

"_Yes" hissed the malevolent ones. "Yes, welcome it; accept it; absorb it; let it take your soul"._

"_No!" Shrieked another voice, struggling to make itself heard. "No! It's a trick!"_

_Barely had Morgan had time to absorb this warning when it was drowned out by an incoherent roaring babble. Every faceless voice was calling to her, exhorting her to accept the dark rush of power. She stumbled and slumped to her knees, gasping and weeping as a part of her soul that had never seen the light of day, began to emerge. The rage felt like it was splitting her in two and she lashed out._

William involuntarily flinched as a bound arm tried to grasp towards him, the movement was jerky, as though Morgan was struggling to strike him. Her eyes were wild and unfocused, or, more accurately, focused inward. "Atta girl" he murmered softly. "Fight it. Don't let it take you over". Metal rattled as the chains on Morgan's wrists pulled taut then slackened again. A creak came from the door behind him as Martin came into the room, bearing a bottle of water, which he handed to William.

"How is she doing?" He enquired.

"I don't know." William sounded tired. "I think she's trying to fight it but I can't be certain. She's gone beyond rational communication…" He sighed and caressed one of Morgan's wayward, curls. The young woman's body had fallen slack, coated in a sheen of exhausted sweat. She did not respond to the contact.

Martin sat down in the chair beside the bed. "Tell….tell me the truth Roundhead." He swallowed to hide the cracking of his voice. "If she doesn't… come back…"

"It won't come to that, Martin. She's strong, she can overcome this darkness. We just have to have faith."

"Faith" echoed Penwarden. He frowned as he regarded the unconscious woman. "Something tells me this is going to take a while; we're going to need help".

The receptionist knocked on Doctor Ashcroft's office door. She glanced at the clock, noting that surgery hours were long over. "Come in" she called.

The Receptionist was a stout woman in her late fifties. She wore old fashioned pinz-nez and pulled her grey hair into a tight bun that made her look like a strict school marm who would be more at home in a girls grammar school from the early thirties. "Doctor, Mr Penwarden is here. He says he needs to see you. Shall I tell him to come back tomorrow during surgery hours?"

1994

A couple of workmen were busy removing the ladders and detritus of decorating from the unoccupied suite of rooms in the East wing of the building. A brass plate had been screwed on the door, indicating the name and speciality of the new occupant. Martin Penwarden rubbed it with his sleeve, removing a tiny speck of dust from the gleaming metal. His new office was much larger than he was accustomed to. It needed to be; for a small market town the inhabitants of this place certainly had a substantial history of needing emotional support. A floorboard creaked and footsteps sounded down the stairs. Martin turned to see one of his new colleagues, carrying a couple of empty coffee cups.

"Hi" she smiled. "You must be Mr Penwarden. I'm Doctor Ashcroft, Sarah."

"Martin" he replied as they shook hands. She wasn't exactly pretty, but her eyes were a deep, rich chocolate brown and filled with gentle warmth. Sarah Ashcroft radiated the rare beauty of human empathy and kindness.

The doctor opened her mouth to speak but tripped on the bottom stair. Martin lunged forwards and caught her, but the mugs she carried fell to the floor and smashed. "Here, I'll get that for you" he offered, ever the gentleman. Ashcroft smiled and nodded her thanks. Martin crouched and started to gather up the ceramic fragments. He was almost done, when one of the shards slipped and sliced open his palm. Penwarden let out a hiss of pain and shook his hand, clenching his fist to cover the wound.

"Here" said Ashcroft. "Let me look at that."

"No, it's alright" replied Martin, drawing his hand behind him. "Just a scratch. It's fine."

"I'll be the judge of that" the doctor replied as she took his arm, pulled it towards her and unfolded the clenched fingers. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped away the pooled blood. At the same moment she revealed the cut, it sparked a little and healed without a trace as though a zip had been fastened across the flesh. Ashcroft's mouth dropped open and Martin groaned inwardly.

"Look…" he began.

"That's… incredible!"

Early 21st Century

"No, tell him to come in." Doctor Ashcroft told the receptionist. The woman nodded curtly and disappeared. A moment later, Penwarden's head appeared around the door. "Martin" she smiled as she stood to greet him. "Now it's not often I see you in here. In fact, I think this is a first."

"Yes, I think it is" the man's voice was as humourless as his face. "Unfortunately this isn't a social call, Sarah. I need your help."

"Don't tell me you're sick" smiled Sarah as she rose.

"Do you remember that woman who went berserk in the Market Square?"

"How could I forget?" the Doctor touched her nose, which still showed signs of bruising.

"She's a friend of mine, Sarah, and she's in trouble."

"What kind of trouble, Martin?" she frowned slightly.

"It's difficult to explain. Suffice to say, she's not herself and she needs a little medical intervention before she gets better."

"What kind of intervention?"

"Glucose, saline, sedatives on IV. Nothing restricted. What do you say? Please Sarah, she's in a real mess…"

"Of course I'll help! She's at your place?"

Martin nodded mutely.

"Give me two hours to get the things I need together and I'll be there, ok?"

"Thanks Sarah" he picked up a pen and scribbled a rough map on her jotter pad. "At risk of sounding like a cliché… I owe you one."

_The water was freezing as the two combatants lunged at one another through the swirling river eddies. The other was barely a child but he didn't care. All he desired was the euphoric power of the Quickening. The child slipped on the weed covered river bed and he took his chance, charging forward with his sword held ready to kill. A silver arc and a fount of blood and the river was running red. The child's body fell beneath the surface and the victor roared his exultant victory to the heavens. He was about to become the strongest of his kind in the whole region and the thought made his whole being quiver in anticipation. _

_Even as Morgan pulled her own consciousness free of the distant memory she still felt the tremors of that long ago Quickening. A dull roar echoed around her and she was back in the column of light with faceless voices calling to her. Each one wanted to tell her its' story and, if it drove her insane they were going to do it. She felt a tremor of outrage and resentment. She was not going to let these personalities invade her being and overrun her soul. She reached out, feeling the pressure of the invisible barrier, pushing against it with all her strength. However, it was to no avail and she slumped to her knees in exhaustion._

"_What do you want from me?" She murmured._

"_They want your mind and your soul" replied a gentle voice. "Do not yield to them. You must draw on their power, not the other way around. You…" The voice was suddenly and abruptly cut off by the clamouring of others._

_Smoke drifted across the bloody field, cutting of the sight of the carnage ahead but it could still be heard and smelt. The taste and stench of blood and gunpowder tainted the air when he felt the presence of another Immortal nearby. Turning slowly, he saw the man… a common private, armed only with his musket. In the heat of battle the man had no sword. It was not part of the Private Soldier's uniform. He grinned, almost sneering as he drew his blade. The soldier raised his bayoneted musket in an effort to protect himself. It was in vain as it was swatted aside as though it were nothing more than a fly. The impact of the sword sent splinters of wood flying up. The private reflexively attempted to shield his face and his opponents sword swung through the air in a deadly arc, decapitating the hapless and helpless young man. Through the thunder of cannon and screams of dying men, no one noticed the Quickening. No one noticed one more body._

The insistent jangling of the doorbell drew Martin from a troubled doze. He felt no Quickening and a quick glance through the spyhole confirmed that the visitor was Doctor Ashcroft.

The doctor was straight to business. "So where's the patient?" she asked.

"Upstairs, I'll show you". The Immortal led the way up the stairs and tapped on the bedroom door.

"Yo?" drawled William's lazy voice.

Martin opened the door and ushered Ashcroft into the room. The Doctor put her box of supplies down on the floor beside the bed and moved closer to inspect Morgan. She spotted the bottle of sedatives on the bedside table and her mouth opened in horror as she picked it up and read the label. "You haven't been dosing her with this!" she gasped. "Good God Martin, you'll kill her!"

"It's alright Sarah" Penwarden rested a gentle, reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Believe me, it won't hurt her in the least".

Sarah looked bemused for a very long moment before enlightenment dawned. "She's… like you!"

Martin nodded slightly. "That's correct" he replied.

"Then let's get to work" She put a stethoscope to her ears and perched on the edge of the bed, listening to Morgan's heart. Even though the Immortal woman was deeply asleep, her pulse was literally racing and her heartbeat thundered in Ashcroft's ears. The doctor let out a low whistle and scribbled the figure down on her hand before checking Morgan's blood pressure and pinching the skin on the back of her hand to check her hydration levels. As Martin had feared, it was dangerously low. Swiftly, Sarah set to work, setting up the IV and inserting needles into the girl's hand. When she was finished, she sat back and ran her hand through her hair with a sigh. "Tell me the truth Martin," she said quietly. "What's happening to her?"

"It's hard to explain Sarah" Martin replied. "Morgan is… struggling right now. Struggling against an influence that is not her own. I know it's not much to go on, but it's about all I can tell you." He shook his head sadly.

Sarah frowned and it was obvious that she wasn't too happy with the situation. "Alright" she said at last. "I trust you, so I won't push you for more details, but tell me this. What will happen if she loses this 'struggle'?"

"It won't be pretty" he said sombrely. The expression on his face was sufficient to curtail any further questions that the doctor might have had on that particular issue.

"How long will it…?" Her voice trailed off.

"I don't know. Could be a day, could be months. There's no way to tell."

Ashcroft reached out and touched his arm. I can see she's more to you than a friend. I'll come by twice a day, let me know if you need anything else. Unfortunately there's nothing more I can do for you now. Keep the fluids going, ok?"

Martin nodded mutely and Sarah smiled. "I'll see myself out" she said as she closed the bedroom door behind her.

As the days passed, Morgan remained unconscious and struggling with the dark Quickening. Doctor Ashcroft was as good as her word and came twice daily to monitor the young immortal. Only the glucose IV was keeping her body from dying, providing as it was, the barest minimum of nourishment.

_The voices became more insistent and the visions became shorter and more vivid. Each one brought with it fresh rage and hatred so seductive that Morgan was sorely tempted to give in to it and the revitalisation it promised. However, as she tentatively reached towards the maelstrom of emotion she felt sickened. It reviled her. "No!" she screamed. "No! No! I won't do it! Do you hear me?" She closed her eyes and took a deep figurative breath, summoning up all the strength she could and shoved hard. At first, nothing happened, the barrier remained immovable. She snarled and bared her teeth, pushing with all her strength. Gradually her hands and then her arms grew warm, then hot then the resistance of the barrier that imprisoned her was gone. One final shove and it collapsed, she fell past the perimeter of the column of light and into the inky blackness._

The young Immortal woke suddenly and tried to sit bolt upright, she realised she was chained down, she let out a yelp of terror. "Martin?" she tried to call for her Mentor but all that emerged from her dry throat was a weak croak.

A shadow crossed her and she peered, trying to recognise the face swimming in front of her. "Martin?" she croaked again.

"No kiddo, it's me… William. How are you feeling?"

"What… what's happening? Why am I here?"

"Don't panic Child" soothed the older Immortal. "There's no need to be afraid. We had to find a way to stop you hurting yourself. What's the last thing you remember?"

She frowned and a hazy image came to the forefront of her mind, she felt her teeth sinking into flesh and saw William grimace in pain, raising his hands to protect himself. "I… bit you" she replied cautiously.

William smiled wanly. "Yeah, that you did" he replied. "But it wasn't your fault. The last head you took was what we call a Dark Quickening. Basically it manifested the evil in your soul. Removed your inhibitions and forced you to act in a way that is totally alien to you."

"How… long?" she realised she felt ill and sick.

"You've been under its' influence for almost three weeks, near as we can tell".

"Three… weeks?"

"Uh huh" he could already sense that her Quickening was calmer, more like the familiar one he had come to know. However, he was too cautious to just release the handcuffs. He had heard tell of Immortals who could control the sensation of their Quickenings. "Just stay calm and still" he spoke almost tenderly. "I can't free you just yet. You're very weak. Rest and we'll see how you're doing when Martin comes home".

Morgan half-nodded in response but a flash of misery crossed her face and Farrell's heart clenched. "I know kiddo" he said, gently. "I know. It won't be much longer, just hang on in there, ok?"

The wait for Martin Penwarden's return seemed to Farrell to be endless and the tension was unbearable. Morgan dozed and cried then dozed again. As he had been silently worrying, the comedown from a Dark Quickening was even more intense than a regular Quickening. The bottom of the pit, deeper and colder and more unforgiving. William paced the front hall agitatedly and was on the verge of picking up the phone again in a vain effort to call his former student home when he heard a car on the drive and sensed the Quickening. He flung the front door wide while Martin was still only half way down the path.

"What is it?" Martin frowned as he ascended the porch steps.

"She's come out of it! Get up there, quick!"

"How long? Why didn't you call me?"

"A few hours ago. I tried, but all I could get was your voice mail."

Martin shed his coat swiftly and dropped his briefcase under the coat hook before taking the stairs two at a time, William was hot on his heels. When he opened the door, he was shocked at the intense difference in the few short hours since he had left for work. Penwarden did not need the Quickening to confirm that the darkness in her soul had been vanquished. He turned to his old Mentor. "I feel it too, William."

After a moment's thought, Farrell nodded. "She's beaten it" he said. "Fetch the first aid kit and some clean towels. Better run the bath too. I'm going to release her."

Martin nodded and set about his appointed tasks as William found the keys to the handcuffs and gently unlocked them. As her hands fell free, he caught them and carefully massaged them until the circulation came back. Morgan let out a low moan as her fingers began to prickle with the blood flowing back into them. At last the white digits were pink again and William adjusted the pillows, assisting her to sit upright as Martin returned with the First Aid kit. Her sunken eyes wandered slowly from one to the other and she frowned. "I feel weird" she muttered.

"That's to be expected" replied Martin. "You haven't eaten in almost a month and your muscles are wasted. However, on the plus side, you are stronger now. Beating the Dark Quickening has done that much for you." As he spoke, Penwarden gently cleaned the abrasions on Morgan's wrists and rubbed Arnica cream into her numerous bruises. Immortal or not, it would at least make her more comfortable as they healed. "Now" he smiled kindly. "There's a nice hot bubble bath with your name on it. Can you manage by yourself?"

"Yeah" her voice was barely audible. "I can manage…" then she mustered a weak smile. "Besides, I don't want you two nutters leering at my charms… or worse… trying to be chivalrous, closing your eyes and dropping the soap…" the words faded into a spasm of racking coughs. A scratching sound came from outside the door, which was followed by a persistant whining. Martin opened the door and a gigantic furry shape bounded into the room. Fenris leapt onto the bed and curled up comfortably on Morgan's lap, wagging his tail fast enough to take flight. She smiled and lifted her left hand to pet the dog, then realised there was an IV strapped into her knuckles. "What's this for?" she wondered.

"Couldn't have you dying of dehydration on us, now could we?" Grinned William. "We should wait for your doctor friend to stop by, Royalist" he suggested. "I have no idea what to do with these needly things."

Glancing out the window, Penwarden saw a familiar car draw up. Sarah Ashcroft emerged from the Driver's seat. "Are you psychic, William?" he quipped. Within a few minutes, Sarah had let herself into the house and was entering the room. Martin introduced her to Morgan and then he and William made themselves scarce to give the two women some privacy.

As the weeks passed, Morgan slowly recovered and regained the weight she had lost during her enforced inactivity. Penwarden was impressed by her newfound strength and fire in combat. Clearly the young immortal had more than overcome the Dark Quickening; she had drawn it into herself and made its' strength a part of her. From a distance a young man watched and made notes. Penmarric was his first assignment and since she had not been seen in over a month, he was excited to be making his first report in her Chronicle. He listened eagerly over the amplifier as her mentor sparred with her at hand to hand combat and his eyes opened wide in amazement as she proceeded to deck Penwarden, not once, but twice in quick succession. Given her frail appearance, he hardly believed that he would be assigned to her for long. After all, she was unlikely to last in the Game, despite all Farrell and Penwarden's efforts. He shrugged and removed the headset as he scrawled his last notes before pulling out his cell phone to report to his supervisor. Somewhere in the vicinity, he knew Penwarden's Watcher was around. For reasons of anonymity Watchers did not observe together.

"They're out there again" Farrell rustled the pages of his paper.

"I know. They're getting sloppy" replied Penwarden as he flopped down in a garden chair beside his friend. The two were alone as Morgan had gone upstairs to change out of her workout gear.

"Think we should tell the kid?"

"She'll go beserk. She feels very strongly about her personal space"

"Yeah, I know that but somehow it doesn't feel right to keep it from her"

"It's a dilemma, I agree"

"There's another dilemma. Pizza or Chinese food?"

"Good point" a small smile crossed Penwarden's face. "I think Chinese. They haven't had that for a while."

Farrell chuckled and picked up the phone. Calling the Imperial Dragon, he placed the order and requested it to be delivered to the top of the lane that entered the woods at the end of the field behind the house. He and Martin knew exactly where the Watchers liked to hide out and precisely thirty minutes later, a motorcyclist was removing a thermally insulated container from the carrier on the back of his bike and knocked on the car window. As it was rolled down he handed the package over.

"Already paid for Mate" he said. "Enjoy".

The Watcher wound the window back up as his companion looked into the bag of Chinese food. "I don't believe this!" he complained. "They know I can't stand prawns!"

"Take it easy Arthur. It's nothing to be concerned about. Besides, who are we to turn down a free meal once in a while?"

"We shouldn't even accept it. We aren't supposed to come into contact with them."


	8. December Rose

The Watchers were not the only ones observing the Immortal household. As Morgan painted her eyelids with liner in a vibrant purple shade to match her eyeshadow she glanced away from the mirror and out of the bathroom window, which was open to let the warm breeze in. The window was on the side of the house, boardered by the garden and Paddock and an ancient Hawthorne hedge beyond. The paddock five barred gate onto the road was the only gap in that thick stand of trees. In the area it was well known to be private property and no local would be so rude as to obstruct the entrance. Today, however, the gate was blocked. An old car was drawn up off the road, in the shelter of the hedge. It was a vehicle she had seen a couple of times the last few days, with only one occupant that she could make out. It made her very uneasy, sending a chill straight down her back. She made her way downstairs with a heavy frown on her face, Martin looked up from his crossword as she entered the Lounge.

"What's the matter Morgan?" he asked, concerned.

"There's someone watching the house" she replied.

"What do you mean?"

"There's been a car parked in the field entrance since early morning. It's been there before, a couple of times. I… I think it's him…" the facial tic and hesitation was all the indication Farrell and Penwarden needed to work out who she meant.

"Did you recognise the occupant?"

Morgan shook her head. "It's too far away. But it's creepy as hell, I'm sure I saw a reflection from something like Binoculars!"

Martin nodded slowly. "Try and stay calm" he advised. "William and I will check it out. Lock the doors and stay put"

She nodded as William got to his feet and folded the newspaper that he had been reading.

"It's probably just the Watchers" Farrell advised his friend as they walked down the front path, well out of Morgan's earshot".

"I wouldn't be so sure. Since when did the Watchers site themselves in plain view in the same place several days running?" They were walking a circuitous route, aiming to come up on the trespassing vehicle from the opposite direction.

"Good question".

"My point precisely."

They could see the car now. It was a shabby Land Rover Defender; ex-military stock that was obviously destined for the Breaker's Yard in the very near future. The driver's window was rolled down, a curl of drifting blue smoke indicated that the solitary occupant was smoking a cigarette. Martin scowled as he saw light glint off a pair of Binoculars and he picked up his pace so that William had to half jog to keep up with his taller friend. Penwarden gestured with a hand, giving Farrell the signal to circle around and out flank the vehicle. Farrell nodded and was moving into position to block the Driver's door when both Immortals felt the Presence of a third of their kind. Almost in the same moment the Landrover's engine roared into life, slammed into gear and surged forward. Martin, close to the front nearside wing of the vehicle did not have the opportunity to leap aside. The Landrover's driver did not stop as the Cornish Immortal was caught in the vehicle's bull bars, then thrown up and over the hood. By the time his body struck the road, the Immortal trespasser had vanished.

"Shit!" Farrell swore under his breath as he made his way to his friend. Not surprisingly he was dead. The road, while quiet was hardly unused. Grunting with effort, he hauled the younger man's deadweight up and managed to get him balanced across his shoulders. "Good Lord, Man, when did you put on this muscle bulk?" he muttered to himself. "I swear you didn't weigh this much when I dragged your scrawny corpse out of that mass grave 400 years ago". Complaining to himself, Farrell made his way to the nearest concealed place. In the middle of the paddock was a weather shelter, holding hay and water for the horses. With a grunt he dropped his friend down on the hay, with slightly more force than he meant to.

A minute later, Penwarden revived with a gasp and a wince. "Bloody hell!" he cursed, sitting up tentatively. "Farrell?"

"All in one piece... but whoever he was, he got away".

"He was definitely watching the house... Morgan's side of the house anyway. This could be bad" Martin noted.

"You're telling me. I think we ought to keep a closer eye on the child for the time being".

Penwarden nodded. "I do not doubt her ability to defend herself against an Immortal challenger, but Ziegler is... different. He does not obey the rules, and, where Morgan is concerned... he is the essence of fear itself and if she cannot overcome it..." He let the sentence hang for a heartbeat then sighed, brushing the road dirt and hay off his clothes as best he could. There was a moment's uncomfortable silence before he spoke again.

"I was meaning to speak to you actually. How's that special project coming?"

Farrell nodded and a smile broke onto his face. "It's almost finished" he replied. "They're just finished fitting out and they're working on the paintwork. Give it another couple of weeks."

"Have you seen it? Will she like it?"

"My friend" William put a hand on Martin's shoulder. "Trust me, she's going to love it."

_**A few weeks later:**_

"How are you doing?"

"Terrible… do we have to sit so close?"

"There'd be no point doing it if we weren't."

"Well couldn't you have picked something safer… like a bath tub!"

"Very droll. You're perfectly safe and if, by some bizarre quirk of fate you do end up in the water, it can't be any more than two feet deep. So calm down." Morgan smiled gently at her Mentor.

Martin shook his head. "If man were meant to spend time in the water, he'd have been born with fins."

"Okay, okay. You've already made it clear I'm not going to get you into a pool any time soon and I'm not even going to try, but there really is nothing to worry about just sitting on a riverbank." She laid a reassuring hand upon Martin's shoulder. "So let's start by just sitting here on this bench and watching the world go by."

Penwarden nodded slightly then leaned back and tried to relax and ignore the weasily little voice that whispered in the back of his mind and insisted that the water was dangerous, that the river could break its' banks and drown him any second. A brilliant flash of blue shot from under a low hanging tree on the opposite bank. The Kingfisher broke the surface with barely a ripple and soon reappeared, carrying a small silver fish in its' slender beak. A pair of swans with a clutch of tiny Cygnets drifted majestically down stream past a growth of reeds, swaying in the warm summer breeze. A sideways glance at his student told him that Morgan had noticed them too. Suddenly she stiffened and her eyes sharpened, staring into the small copse lining the opposite bank. Evidently, the wildlife was not the only thing she had noticed.

"Martin" she murmured softly. "There's a man over there. He's watching us!"

"Where?" he asked as he slowly turned his attention in the direction she was looking. He didn't have to ask really. There was a young man hiding among the trees and he hadn't done a very good job of concealing himself.

Morgan stood slowly, anger simmering behind her mismatched eyes. "Whoever that is, is going to wish he'd never decided to spy on me!"

"No! Morgan, wait!" Martin cursed his student's powerful sense of paranoia. _Damn kids always so impulsive!_

She hesitated with one foot on the bottom slope of the bridge, turning to glance at him over her shoulder.

"You have no idea who or what is over there. Charging in like a one woman army is a really bad idea. Anything could happen. If you want to live forever then you need to think before you act, with the notable exception of you being attacked. That's when you have to act on instinct unless you want to die."

The younger Immortal scowled darkly. "My instincts say there's someone over there playing Peeping Tom. The back of my neck says he's Mortal and I should go over there and kick his ass!"

Martin shook his head. "My experience says there's two of us and we should work together. You create a diversion and I'll go over there and do any ass kicking that may be necessary.

Morgan hesitated again and something flickered in her eyes. "Do you know something I don't?"

"Your instinct serves you well my young Padawan... but on this occasion I must allow my experience to take the lead."

"Well you tell it to do that while I kill the pervert in the tree"

"Do you have a damn death wish?! Walk along the tow path... keep his attention while I outflank him. No arguments!" he pushed passed her and crossed the canal bridge.

Morgan muttered a few foul words under her breath but eventually she did as she was told and started walking again.

_You'll thank me one day_ Martin sighed to himself as he slipped under cover of the trees, moving stealthily to the position his student had indicated. He was only half surprised when he caught sight of a young man sitting in a hollow between the trees. He was holding a pair of Binoculars and was only half concealed by the foliage. A dictaphone and a reporters notebook lay on the tree stump beside him. The hand focusing the lenses was darkened at the wrist by a familiar tattoo. The shock of red hair and distinct lack of facial hair growth was also telling. _My God, they're recruiting children to do a Watcher's job now... if I confront him, he'll have a heart attack._ The kid was oblivious to Martin's observation as he concentrated on Morgan, tossing a few crumbs of stale bread to the swan family. _Well, she knows he's here. I'm going to have to do something._ He stumbled through the undergrowth "Fenris! Fenris! Damn where is that dog! Oh... excuse me; you wouldn't happen to have seen a large black dog around here anywhere would you?

The kid jumped feet. "Oh, uh no. No I haven't. Sorry. I've been concentrating on the birds. Amazing creatures, Herons".

"Oh well; it's just he's a little bad tempered... actually doesn't like Binoculars at all. He was mistreated as a pup you see; so I'd try and keep those things out of sight. Heron you say?" He feigned surprise. "It's rare to see Herons around here what with the weir and the lock, they prefer still water. You'd be better about five miles upstream, but then again you probably already knew that".

The kid nodded, bewildered.

"On the other hand... I'm willing to bet you don't know the first thing about birds and you certainly aren't here to watch them. At least, not the feathered variety. Now; I suggest you move along before a large black dog with a Bino phobia finds his way over. Here Fenris! Dinner!"

The young Watcher looked about him nervously before gathering up his equipment and legging it towards the road.

Penwarden grinned to himself as he made his way back to his student. _Age and treachery overcome youth and bravado every time._ She was leaning on the parapet of the Victorian red brick bridge when he arrived. "Problem solved" he told her. "Birdwatcher looking for Herons. I told him to move along. There's better water about five miles upstream."

"Speaking of water"

"Oh God I was hoping you'd forgotten. Look, just take my head! It's yours! Hang on a minute..." a wide smile stretched across his face. "I'm standing on a bridge... I didn't just hurry across. I'm actually standing on a bridge and I'm not panicking!"

"Yeah, you're crazy alright. How does it feel?"

"Well I've just realised I'm bricking it but... I don't know... I've been terrified of water ever since I was a child" as he spoke, the faint blurred memories of the shipwreck ran through his mind. "If someone came to me in the same situation, I'd have a massive problem helping them in the short term".

"Where would we be without water?"

"You don't need to remind me, but how many people do you hear of who drowned in a drinking glass. The really weird thing is that I can't drown. So it must be a conditioned phobia rooted in my childhood. That said, I think I could manage to walk down here with you if you don't mind. We could bring the mutts".

Morgan shook her head firmly. "Er, no. I've seen how your two pedigree reprobates behave when confronted with a puddle. Fenris will follow and I am not diving in there after them!"

"But I can't swim"

"Guess what lesson two is"

"You... you... Witch!"

"Hell yeah... come on... you can buy me a drink"

The fragrance of coffee hung in the air like a heavy perfume. The trained olfactory sense could detect over a dozen blends and varieties. Yet it was only one variety that Morgan was interested in, and it was not the decaffeinated blend that Martin wanted her to consume.

"It's for your own good, Morgan" the Cornishman insisted gently. "Your heart will not cope with too much caffeine. It's all too easy to fall off the wagon".

The younger Immortal sighed softly. "Just one won't hurt, Martin." I mean… decaf's ok, but it's just not the same."

"I buy good quality stuff. You just miss the kick of the caffeine".

"It's the taste that counts" Morgan made a half hearted attempt to bat her eyelashes at her mentor.

Martin nodded reluctantly. "Ok, ok, I give. But just one, mind" _If it will stop you from turning to those vile, sugar laden energy drinks... _Wisely he kept the second half of his remark to himself. He rose from his seat and walked over to the counter. The waitress came to serve him and he ordered three large houseblends. He handed over the payment and soon enough three big white mugs were placed on a tray on the counter in front of him. Penwarden conveyed them back to their sunny window table, where he was welcomed by a rare grin from his student and a cheery honk from outside where Farrell's car was pulling up. As usual, the oldest member of their trio was just in time to take advantage of someone else buying the drinks.

In a dark corner, three men were drinking tea. A craggy nosed, black haired guy leaned over to his companions. "Well there's one for the Chronicle" he whispered. "A woman has Penwarden wrapped around her little finger. I never thought I'd see the day!" The older of his companions nodded in agreement whilst the red haired young man looked faintly worried. The close proximity of the Immortals made him nervous.

"Well Morgan…" Farrell stretched comfortably on the soft coffee shop sofa and took a swallow of his coffee. "How are things are going?"

She cupped her hands around the warm mug and inhaled the steam with a half-sigh of contentment.

"I just… you and Martin have done so much for me…"

"And?"

"She opened her mouth to speak but the words did not escape her lips. Her eyes suddenly narrowed and became hard and cold as she focused on something over Martin's right shoulder.

Farrell followed her gaze. "What is it?" he asked.

"Those men over there…"

"The ones in the far corner, near the back wall?"

"I've seen them before... a few times..."

William glanced towards Martin with a surreptitious frown before he answered. "Where? How many times?" he asked, casually.

Martin leaned slightly closer, his brows knitting slightly as she lowered her voice even further.

Morgan spoke in a dangerously measured tone. "Everywhere I... we... go. That redhaired guy with the laptop is the one we saw down by the canal. I've seen the others too".

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I'm going to find out what the hell they think they're doing!" Her mug hit the table with a dull thud and the sloshing of liquid inside as it was slammed down.

_Oh hell_ Martin groaned to himself before catching his young friend's wrist, gently but firmly restraining her from standing up before speaking in a hushed tone. "Don't! You're drawing attention to yourself!" he warned.

"Don't care" she sounded petulant.

As she pulled free and stood, Farrell glanced back at Martin. "I thought you'd gotten her past the worst of this paranoia" he groaned.

"I did!" Penwarden had to prevent himself from snarling in frustration. "Don't you recall? The first few months she was here, she was so scared she wouldn't leave the house without me; not even to walk into the garden",

"I remember" William conceeded. "And if the damn three stooges over there were any good at being Watchers she wouldn't have noticed them". Farrell was cut off as Morgan laid her hand heavily on the shoulder of the nearest Watcher.

"Can I, ugh, can I help you Ma'am?" he attempted a polite smile

"Yeah! Tell me why the hell you're stuck to me like Superglue!" she demanded.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean. We're just having afternoon Tea." One of his companions glanced across the cafe to the older two immortals. Farrell rewarded him with a beaming smile and a little wave.

"Bull. Shit." Morgan shifted her grip slightly, twining her fingers into the fabric of his shirt until the collar became tight enough to restrict breathing and the young man's face began to turn first red and then purple.

Martin rose to his feet reluctantly. He had to intervene. "Come along kiddo" he coaxed. "Why don't you calm down a little... you don't want to get barred from this joint do you?"

"I damn well don't care!" Penwarden's training had been effective and (especially since the Dark Quickening) his young student was far stronger than a casual observer would have guessed from her build. With very only a very little effort she pulled the Watcher up from his chair. "Let's take this outside shall we?" She shoved the hapless boy into the door and walked towards it with a singular predatory menace, pausing only to glare and Martin and William; her gleaming eyes daring them to get involved.

The Watcher gulped. "Little help?"

As the door slammed, the other two Immortals got to their feet. "William, you'd better get after her and try to stop her from killing him. I'll have a word with Tweedledum and Tweedledee here. And I still want to drink here so I guess a little chat with the Barista wouldn't go too far amiss".

"Yes quite. Good luck with that." William hurried outside into the deserted street just in time to witness Morgan introducing the Watcher's nose to her left cross.

The young man (boy, really) howled in pain and gasped through blocked sinuses. "Stop! I don't want to hit a woman!" he spotted William over the Immortal woman's shoulder. "Help me! She's crazy!"

Farrell winced. "Oops, wrong thing to say there son". He shook his head and his voice became stern. "Ok Morgan, it's time to stop now. Pretty boy wants to keep his chiselled jaw. Besides, we don't really want the police showing up do we?"

Morgan ignored him, her fury focused entirely on the Watcher. "Why do you follow me everywhere I go!" Mad as hell she grasped his shoulders and began to slam his body up against the brick wall of the side of the building. "Answer me!" she snarled.

"I think it's time to come clean with her my young friend. If you do, she may just let you live." The Watcher swallowed as Doyle's hard eyes bored into him The effect of one brown eye and one blue was more than slightly creepy. "Do it son" William urged again. "I'd hate your friends in there to have to tell your family that you died because you were stupid.

"Okay! Okay!" the boy gasped. "I'll tell you! Only let go of me!".

She glared at him expectantly, her grip not slackening even a little, although she did relax the pressure pinning him to the brickwork.

"I'm your Watcher"

"My what?"

"Your Watcher. We follow people like you and keep records on your lives. I don't mean you any harm. Mr Farrell's and Mr Penwarden's Watchers were with me in the coffee shop".

The white knuckle grip relaxed a fraction and Morgan paled in shock. "All... people like us?"

"As far as I know, yes" he nodded.

"Where they watching 'Him'!" Her eyes darkened again

"Him who?"

"The one who did this!" Morgan pulled her scarf aside to reveal the angry scarring on her throat. After a glance, the boy averted his eyes from the gruesome display.

"I don't know who did that. But if it was an Immortal then his Watcher couldn't get involved. We just watch. We can't interfere".

"Just... Watch... Someone just... watched while he murdered me! Just watched and did nothing!" she launched herself at him in a red haze of renewed fury.

"Woah! Stop! It wasn't my fault! I don't make the rules!" If the comment was intended to placate her, it did precisely the opposite as Morgan let out a snarl of rage and grief and started to lay into the Watcher. Her blows were wild and unaimed so, taking a couple of quick steps forward, Farrell was able to grasp her arms and pull her away before she caused the mortal serious injury.

"They have rules to prevent them interfering in our lives. Now listen to me! There was nothing... Nothinghe or anyone else could have done to save you. They have lives too and sometimes their assigned Immortals slip off the scope". Morgan staggered slightly, exhausted by shock and grief. Her knees buckled and it was only Farrell's grip on her that stopped her from collapsing completely as she began to sob. He held her a few seconds more before drawing her into his arms and whispering soothingly. In a minute or two she had calmed slightly. "Look, I know it's a lot to take in, but these guys have been watching us for millennia. If you want to know if someone is a Watcher..." he grabbed the young man's left arm and turned it over to expose the inner wrist, revealing a blue tattoo. "That is the sign to look for".

"They can stop..."

"You don't understand. It all goes on record; a Chronicle. Don't you see? We're history. Like it or not, if he doesn't do his job, then someone else will. At least you know who he is, besides he seems like a nice lad. My Watcher is a complete asshole".

Morgan shook her head miserably; the hapless kid forgotten for now and her heart consumed by the agonising idea that someone had witnessed her rebirth into immortality and not lifted a finger to prevent the crimes that Zeigler and his damned 'church' had committed in the process.

"Look now... Zeigler's Watcher might not even have been there". Farrell glanced across at the boy. "Now my young friend, how long has there been a Watcher on Morgan?"

"Um, about six months" he mumbled after a moment's thought. "I was only assigned in March".

"There you go. The Watchers couldn't have seen it or they would have had you under surveillance much sooner. I know it's not much, but like I said, it's not the kid's fault"

The familiar Cornish drawl butted in from the direction of the street. "Evening all. Has World War Three ended yet?"

The other two Watchers peered out from around Penwarden. "Farrell been giving you problems, kid?" enquired the senior.

Morgan's Watcher attempted to straighten his clothing. "No sir!" he replied earnestly.

"Told you he was an asshole!" William snorted as Morgan buried her face in his shoulder, a vain effort to regain control of her emotions. "It's okay child, let it all out" he soothed before glaring across at the Watchers. "Okay Punk, do you feel lucky? Are you pre-Immortal or not? Shall we find out? Just say something stupid and we'll have our answers".

Penwarden and his Watcher glanced at one another and shrugged while Farrell's Watcher returned his stare in truly arrogant style. Penwarden's Watcher interrupted. "He's right, you are an asshole. Look, we'll leave you alone now. I think Morgan has a lot of questions to ask".

Martin nodded slightly. "You going to report this one's cover being blown?" The young Watcher gazed pleadingly at his senior colleague and shook his head.

"I don't think that's going to be necessary, do you?"

Farrell's Watcher glared at him, about to repeat chapter and verse before realising that they themselves would also be reassigned as their cover had been blown too.

William nodded slightly "Just stay the hell out of sight from now on. You idiots of all people should know how sensitive 'some people'..." he lowered his eyes to indicate Morgan "are to being watched, tracked or otherwise followed."

"Look, I'm sorry. Probie here still has a great deal of learning to do. I tried to stop things getting out of hand, but I had no idea he'd been spotted by her. I'm sorry for the distress we've caused you, Miss Doyle. By the book all three of us should be reassigned but that just means three more would be assigned in our places. We don't mean to harm, only to learn." The Watcher extended his hand to Martin who shook it firmly. "Thanks for the takeout. Come on kid, you and I need to have words."

As the mortals rounded the corner, Martin scratched his ear. "Well, we can still buy coffee here, which is a good thing. How you doing there, Morgan?"

Her reply was a muffled murmer. "I just want to go home, be alone for a while".

"We'll walk you back. Is that okay?"

Morgan nodded distantly and William squeezed her shoulder in a comforting gesture, which did nothing to raise her eyes from her feet. He leaned across to Martin with a whisper "I guess we don't mention the Hunters"

Martin rolled his eyes and nodded silently.

After about a hundred yards, Morgan stopped dead and looked up at William, almost accusingly. "How can you accept this! Those Voyeurs probably saw him kill your wife and again did nothing!"

"That is none of your business!" Farrell's face flushed with rage. "Why do you think I went after him? The Watchers are not police. I don't like them, at least not mine anyway, but put yourself in their position. What could they have done? They don't live on your doorstep!"

Morgan let out a snarl of pent up fury. "What kind of person makes a living out of observing some beast destroy lives left, right and centre without even dealing 911!" As angry as Farrell was, she was so furious that she was ice white and trembling.

"Look Missy, I've taken heads. Martin has taken heads. Does that make us evil? You've taken heads. We do it to survive, we all possess good and evil inside us. If I remember correctly, you wanted to taste my blood".

Morgan did not respond immediately but at the last comment, her eyes flashed with hurt. For the first time in months she seemed to retreat back inside herself. "That's not the same thing!" she whispered hoarsely. "Not the same thing at all" We take heads to survive, no other reason. Not out of sadism, not for pleasure. Isn't that what you taught me, Martin?"

"Humans, Immortals all have that trait. If the general public knew about us what do you think that would do? Answer if you can" William challenged.

Her voice was soft and steady, but bitter as she turned away. "I was dumb to think you would understand".

"No you don't! Look at me! If a Watcher called in the Feds, the existence of Immortals would be revealed to the world, where would that put us? I'll tell you where! Every security agency in the world would be after us. MI5, FBI, CIA, GRU, you name it... and they'll kill us. Remember, what man can't understand, it destroys. That's a fact!"

She glared at him "I'll give you facts! An Immortal murders in cold blood and gets away scott free because the one who saw it won't say a word. Not a damn word! For all you know they're all jacking off over the fucking photographs!" she turned her back on him and stalked away. Her eyes were glazed slightly and she ignored them all, Mortal and Immortal, pushing blindly through the passers-by.

Martin sighed again as Morgan's raven head disappeared from view in the down the street. "She's blocking, Old Friend. Nothing we say is going in and you know what that means".

"We go find that sick fuck and take his head?"

"Not how I would I have put it, but yes. You have a score to settle and if she doesn't see him killed it will knock her back".

"What does that mean?"

"She's starting to fall back into her old ways. She needs closure... she needs his head!"

"She'll never do it! She's still deep in grief. How long has it been since all this happened? Do you know? It's unfortunate that this... revelation came so soon." Farrell shook his head. "Damn women, why do they have to be so emotional?"

Penwarden rolled his eyes "You want your head ripped off? Keep that up and the Dark Quickening will pale in comparison. We need to find him and make her think that she found him. She needs to do this. I don't like it but I can't see any other option."

"I'll tell you what we need to do right now, Royalist. We need to find her before she does something foolish, like stretch her neck across the railway tracks" Farrell shuddered. "Messy"

"Okay, homing beacon mode. I'll go this way, you go that. Keep out of sight. You'll sense her before she senses you; call me when you find her and I'll do likewise". Martin turned to the unseen Watchers who had tailed them instead of making off on their own. "And you three, kindly piss off for the duration!" He clapped Farrell on the shoulder and set off down his chosen street.

Penwarden followed after Morgan, keeping his distance just far enough for her to be out of sight, but close enough that he could still sense her Quickening. She walked through the town and into the woodland that followed the canal as it snaked through the countryside. Her movement was purposeful and she didn't once so much as glance over her shoulder. 'Where does she think she's going?' wondered Martin as he pulled out his mobile phone and pressed speed dial. "No, I found her. She's on the canal bank. Never mind that! Just get here, now!" By the time he ended the call and returned the phone to his pocket the Quickening was almost out of range and rapidly growing fainter. Fortunately, there was just enough daylight coming through the overhanging trees for Penwarden to follow his student's prints in the soft muddy ground. On the left he could see the glimmer of still water and a flash of colour. Morgan was there; huddled up on her haunches at the water's edge; her hair escaping from its' neat knot and hanging down her back in a dishevelled mane. _Alright, Martin_ he told himself. _You can do this, it's only water... Hell! Why here?_ He cleared his throat. "Morgan... Morgan? Let us help. What can I do? What can Farrell do?"

A despondant mumble came back to him. "Christ can I not be alone for five minutes?" The words were angry but the voice was filled with misery. She turned her head to look at him and her face was stained with tears that had already fallen while her eyes were bright with tears that had yet to fall.

"Let it go. You have to let it go or you will explode".

"Let it go? Let it go? How can I let it go when it's all I have?"

"If it's all you have then it will destroy you. Even hatred is better than self pity. You've been through hell and things will never improve until you're able to let go and move on. I know this and so does Farrell. He wants Zeigler dead as much as you do, but he's not on the path to self destruction".

Running footsteps came up behind them and Farrell skidded to a halt, leaning over and resting his hands on his thighs as he gasped for breath, while smiling to hide the fact that he was knackered.

"So... what did I miss?"

"Nothing important" replied Penwarden smoothly. "Come on, Morgan. What say we go home and you can show William some of those new designs you've been working on".

Farrell himself was about to shake his head and declare that he had no interest in semi precious stones or in any jewellery or handicrafts. However, he was stopped by his former student's pointed glare. "Sounds great" he found himself replying. "Oh, and by the way. How would you two like to take a trip tomorrow?" He gave Penwarden a meaningful wink.

Penwarden caught on instantly. "Excellent idea" he declared. "Shall we?" He took Morgan's hand, only slightly surprised when she allowed him to lead her off the towpath and towards the lane that led back to the house.

Next morning, Farrell was up and hammering on the door at an indecently early hour. With her room being on the front of the house, Morgan was the first to hear him, right after the dogs, Fenris, Charles and Stuart. She opened the window after pulling her bathrobe closer about her. "Will it kill you to wait five minutes?"

"Absolutely! Come down here and open the door so I can get that lazy Royalist out of bed!"

The barking rose to an agitated crescendo as a key turned. "You don't need to. He's been up for hours. Now kindly leave the young lady alone".

Farrell bowed with a grin. "Of course" he replied and walked into the house without waiting for Penwarden to invite him in.

Finally, Morgan finished bathing and dressing and made her way downstairs, the enormous Fenris hot on her heels as always.

"At last!" William exclaimed. "Why do women always take hours to get ready?"

"What's going on?" The youngest Immortal was quite rightly bemused.

"Ignore him, he's had too much chocolate" replied Martin as he whalloped William with a rolled newspaper. "We thought we'd go for a drive... show you the area a little more".

"Sure, why not?" She shrugged and rubbed at red rimmed tired eyes as she poured cornflakes into a bowl before opening the fridge, looking for milk. Martin glared at Farrell, a silent warning not to give the game away. Farrell for his part was barely able to contain himself for the length of time it took Morgan to eat her breakfast, at which point he rushed to usher her out to the car with Martin following".

The trio drove for about an hour before turning into a small gateway with a tiny, barely readable sign on a post in the hedge. "What's here?" enquired Morgan.

"A surprise" grinned William.

"You know I hate surprises!"

"Trust me. This is a good surprise" he emphasised. "Come on".

Martin ushered his student down the steps and through a gate, where she was surprised to find herself standing at the head of a small Marina. A boathouse stood nearby with busy sounds emanating from it.

"Ah! Mr Farrell, Mr Penwarden. You're right on time. Everything's all ready for you". A grey haired man clambered out of the hulk of an old boat and wiped his hands on a rag that was already filthy with oil. "We just finished the final tests this morning. I take it you'd like to do some inspecting?" He smiled knowingly towards Morgan, who felt a brief pang of nervousness.

"Martin..." she murmured, worriedly.

"He nodded reassuringly. "Enough suspense, William. I think it's time to let the cat out of the bag" After a brief pause he turned back to his student. "The thing is" he began. "We've both noticed how much calmer and more contented you are when you're out alone in a wide open space... and, I know you won't want to live with me forever, so William and I got to thinking about how we could find you the independence that you thrive on and, well, we think we've found something ideal". As he spoke they were walking along the towpath, following William and his friend.

Eventually, they reached a boat whose paintwork and brass gleamed with newness. It was a narrowboat, seventy feet long, sporting a traditional stern and painted in the time honoured combination of red, yellow and green, picked out here and there with circular patterns and other waterways designs. From the bow stared a pair of painted eyes reminiscent of ancient Roman or Greek galleys. Unlike those ancient craft however, one eye was brown and one was blue. Morgan gasped slightly and looked up at William and Martin uncertainly. The builder smiled and, with a flourish, pulled the piece of Hessian away from the aft portion of the cabin to reveal the name 'December Rose'.

"Well? Do you like her?" asked Farrell, impatiently?

Morgan's answer was a mute, wide-eyed nod.

"She's all yours" he smiled as he handed her a set of keys.

"Mine... but..."

"No buts. Travel and live wherever you want, whenever you want; go as far as you want. There's nothing to tie you down anywhere unless you want it to".

"This... is amazing".

Martin interrupted. "Come and go as you please as well".

His student glanced at him in vague surprise. "Really?" she asked.

"Yes. Really. Now, how about taking a look inside?"

"Are you serious? You want to step onto a boat?"

"No I don't, I'm trying to be extra brave. Is it working?"

"I won't tell anyone the opposite" Morgan deadpanned. Carefully she stepped across the gap between the bank and the gunwhale and stood beside the tiller, with the keys in her hand. After a moment, she found the right one and the boat builder opened the hatch.

"After you Ma'am" he offered.

Morgan hesitated and, seeing the expression on her face, Farrell quickly stepped aboard. "Why don't I go first?" he suggested as he ducked down the steps and into the cabin. Martin and Morgan followed him, while the Mortal remained on deck. In the next hour, they explored every inch of the boat from the engine to the various nooks and crannies that William had specially designed for her to hide her sword or another weapon wherever she was on board. There was even a satellite internet connection with a backup portable WiFi aerial. "No excuse for you not to keep in touch" he quipped.

"I've never driven anything like this before. What do I do?"

"Ah, now that is where I come in" replied William. "I've taken lessons and I'm qualified to teach you. So there's nothing to worry about".

"Apparently not... but I do have one last question".

"Shoot... Er... Not literally, of course".

"How did you pick that name?"

"Now that's easy". He smiled. "Martin and I first met you in December, a timid, delicate flower, struggling to bloom. You're our 'December Rose'"

"I... had no idea you could wax so lyrical..."

"I was quite the Bard in my day. Didn't last very long, I couldn't remember the old stories for toffee... So, what do you think? Do you like it?"

"I love it!"

"Good" Martin interjected. "Because this is our gift to you. No ifs, buts, whys or hows. 'December Rose' is yours from stem to stern whether you want to live here permanently or just take off from time to time. Mooring fees and river license are taken care of for the expected lifespan of the boat, there's even funds set aside for servicing and other technical doodads, so don't worry about a thing".

Morgan seemed to speechless and she just nodded as she wandered up and down through the main cabin, examining every detail. "I... think... I'm going to love it"

Penwarden and Farrell smiled at one another and surreptitiously high-fived behind their friend's back.


	9. Face-Off

As William had more than half expected, within a week of Morgan moving onto the boat, the mailbox at Penwarden's door rattled in the dusk. The excitedly clamouring spaniels reached the mat only a few moments ahead of their master and sat, feathered tails wagging excitedly as they guarded the captured intruder. Martin rolled his eyes and scooted the creatures aside so that he could retrieve the envelope. It was plain, brown and backed by a hardened piece of cardboard of the type usually employed to keep the contents from bending in transit. The closure was unsealed and curious, the Immortal opened it. Out slipped a single photograph. Dated that day it had been taken in the misty half light of sunrise on the canal. A familiar bright painted boat was just slipping out of sight under the bridge. The figure at the tiller was almost hidden by the waterproof jacket she wore tucked up almost past her ears, but Martin fancied nothing would keep him from recognising Morgan, even by her mane of black curls if need be.

Unable to repress the half sigh of regret, Penwarden returned to the living room. As usual of late, Farrell had made himself comfortable with his feet up on the sofa and was pretending he hadn't noticed the twin hopeful expressions and four erect ears directed at the remnants of a sandwich on the side table. Penwarden, for his part pretended he had not just caught his friend in the act of switching channels from the Cartoon Network to BBC News 24.

"The WatchTower?" Farrell deadpanned, apparently engrossed in a report about increasing demand for solar panel installation.

"I wish". Penwarden could not keep the melancholy out of his voice and Farrell sat up sharply.

"Then what?" the older Immortal demanded to know.

"The Watcher's are keeping their promise... they've kept their distance from Morgan, but I guess this..." he proffered the envelope. "Must have been misfiled".

Farrell's eyes darkened and he snatched the delivery, almost tearing the envelope in his haste to remove the contents. His own sigh was one of profound relief. For a moment he had dreaded the worst. "This is what we wanted for her isn't it?" he asked. "To come and go as she pleased without having to rely on anyone".

"True. Though I had assumed she would... tell us when she planned to up sticks. Say goodbye as it were".

A couple of weeks later, 'December Rose' was back in her home mooring on the edge of the Marina. She was the only permanently occupied vessel in that stretch of water. Morgan was pretty much alone, just the way she wanted. It was about a twenty minute walk from the boatyard car park that gave William and Martin ample time to chat as they walked.

"I don't know why you're so worried, Old Man" muttered William. "She sounded fine on the phone. Just because she returned in the wee small hours without so much as a postcard in between the leaving and the returning then promptly asked us to visit doesn't automatically mean that disaster is in the offing".

"I know, I know... I just didn't expect a call so soon"

"We'll know in a few minutes. Look, there's the boat".

It was a warm summer evening and Morgan lay on her stomach on the cabin roof, propped up her elbows as she read. When she sensed the two older Immortals, she sat up and started to reach for the boat pole beside her as a makeshift weapon.

"Hey! It's us!" called Martin.

With a smile, Morgan sat up and shoved the e-reader into the bag that lay beside her. "Hey" she called back. "Come on over, there's beers in the cooler".

Farrell hopped nimbly over the gunwhale and onto the stern deck. Penwarden was slightly slower. Without a gangplank in place there was a two foot gap between the shore and the boat. He took a deep breath, stared resolutely forward (not down) and stepped. Feeling the solid deck beneath his feet he had to force himself to inhale slowly and naturally. His student shot him a private wink and proffered a bottle of beer.

"Cheers"

"Cheers" Martin accepted the bottle and the opener and broke the seal. Before long the three of them were swigging contentedly together as the sun went down.

"So why the night time flit and sudden urgent call?" William asked eventually as he helped himself to another beer. Martin shot his friend an irritated look that did nothing to persuade the former Parliamentarian to retract the blunt question.

Morgan shrugged slightly. "Wanderlust" she answered cryptically. "It felt like a good day to go, so I went as soon as it was light. It was hardly a night time flit".

"Point taken. But the boat handled well? Everything's ok?"

The younger woman paused to take a swig of beer. "It's fine..." The silence seemed to drag out before she reached into her bag and pulled out a folded newspaper. It was from a town a few miles downstream and was several days old. "Page six".

Penwarden took the paper before Farrell could grasp hold of it. He shook it out and flicked past several articles of little interest beyond their examples of small town journalism before he found what Morgan meant. It couldn't be any other story. _New Church opens social club in deprived neighbourhood _he read. Beneath the headline, a photograph illustrated the piece. Martin set his teeth even as his lip curled into a snarl of anger.

Farrell snatched the page. "Ziegler!" he hissed.

"You're coming home with us" Martin informed Morgan. "I won't risk him finding you alone again".

To his surprise, the younger woman shook her head, clenching her fists so hard that her rings cut into the flesh below her knuckles and the joints themselves turned bone white. "I am done running!" she declared. "I want him dead!"

"As do we". A young man stepped out of the dark undergrowth that bordered the towpath. As usual, the novice watcher clutched his birdwatching book and wore binoculars around his neck. Ben held his hands up placatingly as 'his' Immortal started to her feet. "But he's older than Farrell and Penwarden together. I can help you acquire the information that you need to find him, but I'm not eager to be reassigned. In fact, I'd rather hoped to make you a lifetime case study". The Watcher, Ben, offered a weak smile.

"So the little man has grown up" Penwarden tousled the boy's hair. "Doesn't change things though.

He is right Morgs, listen to him!"

Doyle hesitated and Farrell grasped her hand. "None of us want to lose you. There's no shame in letting Martin or I dispatch the vermin for you".

"No" she shook her head to reiterate the point. "You can't take that evil into yourselves. I've seen it already inside myself and beaten it. He can't do anything more to me now".

"Morgan... please... if you must do this, then fight with your mind and not with your heart!"

Morgan slipped her hand from Farrell's and put an arm around the shoulder of each of her Immortal friends. "Don't worry. I have no intention of building my pyre just yet".

Martin reached out and caressed her cheek briefly and lightly. "I know you can do this... but whatever happens, I want you to know that you've made me proud of you. You're the daughter I've never had".

"Oh for Pete's sake, Royalist!" William rolled his eyes. "Spit it out, we don't have all night".

Diplomatically ignoring the older Immortal's interruption, Martin gathered his thoughts. "What I am trying to say is... I... I love you. You have taught me as much as I have endeavoured to teach you, if not more. When this is over, we're going on holiday, so please don't make me lose the deposit". He hugged his student tenderly, ignoring her surprise as he laid a light kiss on her forehead.

"If only I were two thousand years younger, you know you wouldn't stand a chance" Farrell declared as he wrapped his arms around Morgan and gave her a bearhug that lifted her off her feet.

Ben gave a wavering smile but his eyes were filled with worry. "Just come back... Please"

As she looked at them, Doyle found herself blinking hard in a futile effort to stop the tears. "Stop waxing lyrical you pair of doofuses!" she scolded as she wiped her eyes fiercely. "I just want you both to know... how much I care about you". She glanced at Ben and flashed her wicked, lop-sided grin. "So you'd better go buy new batteries for your dictaphone because I've too much to survive for!"

"Guess I'd better buy in bulk then". The Watcher extended his hand. "I'm sorry for being such an ass when we first met. You are a strong person and I'm proud to be your Watcher".

The Immortal woman blushed furiously. "I'm not so certain you were the one who was being an ass. I haven't been exactly fair on you".

"Never mind. Just send him to Hell, Morgan!"

"She smiled and glanced back at Martin. "It's time to stop being afraid".

Martin nodded. "Do what needs to be done and get the hell out of Dodge". As Morgan turned away, his smile faded and Martin faced his two companions. "I feel a Star Wars quote coming on".

"Oh, and which one might that be?"

"I have a bad feeling about this".

Morgan was well out of earshot by now and Farrell frowned. "You'd better explain yourself, Royalist".

Ben looked between the two older Immortals, anxiously. "She can beat him... right?

"Well yes, she can, but if he manages to wind her up, she may lose control and with control goes focus. With focus goes your head".

Farrell massaged his throat thoughtfully, remembering Morgan's temper unleashed under the power of the dark Quickening. "Like a bull in the ring".

The Watcher frowned to himself as an idea began to form in the back of his mind.

"I don't like the look on your face, Junior. If you're thinking she'll fight better because she's angry, you're wrong. Movements become wider and sword control will go out of the window. A Dark Quickening gives your anger something of a boost and directs it to the nearest person. Imagine a thousand plus voices all egging you on to hurt, destroy and kill! Normal anger is just to scattered to be of any help. She would just leave herself open".

"I understand, but... what if someone where to stop her getting angry".

"Well then, she..."

William interrupted Penwarden's reply. "Then her mind could focus on defence and attack. The moves would be precise and fluid, as we have seen her fight before. She's a natural with a sword. Hang on! I think I know where you're going with this!"

"The Watcher reached into his pocket" She's a good person. I don't want an evil creature like that to be the end of her".

"What have you got there! If it's a gun, you should know better. We cannot interfere and you can only watch!"

"I'm going to watch. Up close. Don't try to stop me".

Farrell and Penwarden exchanged looks briefly before following him. "If we're going to Hell, we may as well have the whole package tour".

The two Immortal men heard nothing from Morgan for the next several days. The phone remained silent and no note slipped through the door. As darkness fell on the sixth day, Cromwell and Fairfax flew at the back door, snarling and hollering for all their little canine voices were worth. Martin was about to scold them for making a fuss when he heard the tentative tap on the glass. William Farrell had practically moved in during the Dark Quickening incident and showed no inclination of leaving. The older immortal now moved stealthily towards the back door. He shook his head. No Immortal Presence. With a good dose of caution there was little to threaten either of them. Farrell opened the door and glared out into the dusk at the young watcher who was doing his best to be inconspicuous as he awaited an answer to his summons.

"She's gone" he blurted as soon as the door closed behind him. "She found out where he lives and left about half an hour ago... If you're quick you might be able to catch up".

"Just how do we..."

Ben lifted a hand, cutting off Penwarden's protest. "I bugged her satnav". He proffered a tablet pc with a map application currently running. On screen, a red dot flashed as it progressed along the country roads. "It's got a limited range though so if you're going to find her, you need to leave now!"

Morgan stepped silently up the staircase of the large house in the neighbouring village. Her sword was drawn, the blade gleaming blackly; her focus was centred and determined.

"Well now. You took your time. Any longer and I was going to send a formal... invitation". Ziegler's face was invisible in the darkness apart from the spark in his eyes that reflected the spark on his blade.

"You host the worst parties on the face of the planet. And your hair is a crime against fashion sense, so I probably wouldn't have RSVP'd anyway".

"So the little girl has grown a sense of humour. Miss me? I've missed you, you know. Now, are you going to come out and... play?"

The voice that replied was flat and emotionless. "I'm going to kill you and dance in your blood".

Ziegler let out a derisive chuckle. Good, good! Now you have spirit. Last time you were broken... pathetic, wretched... easy!"

Morgan tightened her grip on her sword. "Shut up and fight!"

"Fight? I was rather hoping for a starter before we moved on to the main course" he licked his lips, wolfishly.

Morgan shook her head. "I find a starter spoils one's appetite for desert".

"If you want to die so much then I'd better put you out of your misery". With that, he brought his sword up, ready in anticipation.

"Sure you will".

His attack came slightly more suddenly than Morgan was prepared for and she was forced to vault over the banister, to the ground floor about six feet below. However, Ziegler was not prepared to lose his victim so easily and aimed a brutal cut down towards her head; which forced her to block high. He disengaged and followed her over the banister. She held her blade firmly, keeping Ziegler at greater than arm's length. "Nasty scar" he purred silkily as he eyed her throat. "How on Earth did a precious little thing like you come to have a brand like that?"

Morgan bit down on her response as she tracked his movements with her eyes, searching for a weakness that could give her an opening to attack; just as Martin had taught her. Her foe aimed a cut across at her right shoulder, she parried to the left, struggling against brute strength. Ziegler changed his tactics, turning his sword in an attempt to encompass Morgan's and trap the guard. He was moments from disarming her when Morgan dropped her sword to the vertical, freeing it from the huge kriss blade that Ziegler weilded. He growled in angry response and responded with a rapid fire sequence of cuts and beat attacks. He was much taller than she; with a greater reach and a much longer sword. This meant he had the advantage; Morgan knew she had to close the gap and make him work in her sphere where he couldn't use his longer reach against her. The force of his blows jarred her wrists and exhausted her arms. Inexorably slowly, his sword pushed against hers, pushing it further and further, forcing her defences open and exposing her vulnerable neck for a backcut. However, Morgan had learned some tricks since their last encounter; one of which was ideal for the situation that she had allowed him to push her into. She knew she could never push his sword back in a show of brute strength, the only option was to get hers free. She began to turn her blade inwards towards her own body, before flicking it clear of the tip of Ziegler's. The sudden disappearence of resistance to his pressure threw the man off balance and sent his sword off target. Morgan's blade dropped naturally into line with his throat and she lunged!

Ziegler looked mildly surprise at this turn of events. His eyes turned downwards as he tried to see the length of steel that had skewered his throat. There was a clatter that heralded the kriss blade falling to the ground from his hand. He could do nothing but gurgle as his legs buckled, leaving him hanging on Morgan's sabre like so much meat. Gradually she let the blade dip, allowing gravity to do its' work. Blood gurgled out of Ziegler's mouth and he could only stare helplessly at her, bemusedly trying to work out how such a snivelling, weak piece of shit that he had taken pleasure in torturing and degrading had come to this point. The pain increased; it felt like the wound was being torn open. The Eye of Fortune stared glassily at him, moving as her wrist moved and shook the beads and silver links of her bracelet. Morgan twisted her wrist back and forth, slowly allowing Ziegler's body to slide to the ground. She said nothing, just stared at him as she flexed the fingers that held her sword. Wordlessly, she shifted her grip to a two handed one and swung hard.

For eternal long seconds, the silence was deafening. Morgan stood in the midst of the bloody mess, exhausted and trembling. Then the wind began to stir, it whipped around her like a hurricane as the smell of ozone rose. Lightening tendrils crept across the ground from the decapitated corpse. She screamed as they struck her, driving the knowledge and memories deep into her very bones. It hurt; God how it hurt! The pain drove her to her knees and she knew everything that Ziegler had ever done; to her and countless other women and social misfits throughout his long life. She saw it all and she wept.

Outside, the wind died down and the maelstrom of the Quickening faded from the minds of Martin and William. One distinct Immortal presence was left. Martin lowered his head and closed his eyes as he let out a heavy sigh that his friend interpreted as regret. Penwarden had spent so much time with Morgan that he knew her Presence intimately, while William did not. Farrell reached inside his coat and firmly gripped the hilt of his sword. "I'll take him" he said determinedly. He drew the blade out as a figure came towards them, out of the darkness. Martin put a staying hand on his arm and he took a second look.

She didn't stop when she reached them, not even to acknowledge that they were there. William started to call after her; turned to follow but Martin shook his head. "Let her go" he advised. They both watched silently as Morgan disappeared into the night.

"You think she'll be alright?"

"I think she's going to be fine".

"What if she doesn't come back?"

"She will. When she's ready".

Three Months Later...

The early spring sun shone through the window of Martin Penwarden's office and the first warm breeze of the season stirred the curtains, bringing with it the sound of birdsong and the scent of the nodding daffodils that were bursting through the earth below the window. His pen scratched against the paper as he transcribed the shorthand notes from a patient consultation. A few inches from his elbow, a pair of shoes rested comfortably on the desk. "I'm bored!" Farrell whined. When Martin didn't answer, he wadded up a ball of paper and aimed it at his former student's head, bouncing it expertly into the waste paper bin.

Half a dozen of these missiles later, something stirred in the back of his mind and a third Immortal presence made itself known. Martin was apparently engrossed in his work and didn't look up. A tap came on the door and it opened slowly, almost cautiously. Farrell couldn't help but jump to his feet when he saw who it was. Penwarden, for his part did not react.

"Martin?"

Finally he looked up. "Welcome back Morgan" he smiled. "How are you doing?"

"God, Morgan... kiddo... we've missed you!" Farrell all but bearhugged her. "Where the hell have you been?"

"I needed to be alone for a little while... Martin, do you have a few minutes?"

"It's probably not a good idea, we're practically family after all. I know a great psychologist at the hospital you could speak to. He's a friend of mine, I'm sure he could fit you in.

"I don't want to speak to you professionally. I just wanted to give you something" she drew a flat wooden box from her coat and placed it on the desk in front of him. "You've been a very patient customer."

Martin drew the box towards him and regarded it curiously. The polished surface gave nothing away as his hand manipulated the brass catch. He opened the lid and let out a gasp. Nestled inside protective foam was the action figure he had asked Morgan to find on their first meeting at her shop in Vancouver. He had expected, at the most, a slightly scruffy much played with example of little R2-D2, but not this! The action figure was in mint condition and what's more, still attached to its' sales card and encased in the original plastic bubble. The man's mouth dropped open. "Where did you get this?" he asked.

"Don't ask, won't tell" Morgan replied cryptically. "No... you aren't paying me for it. You've done so much for me, can't I give you this small gift?"

"I guess... just this once..." he smiled and was gratified when that long awaited upturn of the mouth crept onto his student's face and stayed there. At once her face seemed brighter, her eyes shone and her cheekbones flushed ever so slightly. She looked like a different woman both without and within. Martin stood and grasped her hands and Farrell threw an arm around her shoulders. Without warning, she turned and hugged them both fiercely. "Thank you!"


End file.
